Duplicity
by swanderful1
Summary: Secrets shroud the homes of the idyllic Willow Lane. Its newest resident, Emma Swan is no exception. In a place where perception is everything, the facade begins to crack. And Emma finds herself staring down the deep, dark secrets that the neighborhood was built on and that nothing is as it seems. Not even the blue eyed gardener.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi all! Back with another one! This story came into my head a while ago and took some time to get out into an actual plot. I hope the first chapter was intriguing enough for you as readers to want to keep going, even if it's not I'll probably still keep writing because this story has been so fun to develop.

Read, review, enjoy! Always appreciate hearing from people. Thanks! :)

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights to OUAT!**

 **Special thanks to resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta**

 **Word Count: ~5000**

Killian Jones was better on his own.

Which was why he relished in the quiet of the morning before the rest of the world was awake. He contemplated this as he stood before an open window, a chilled breeze blowing through, wondering exactly when he started feeling this way.

Perhaps it was after growing up without parents.

Or it could have been following the death of his brother.

Maybe it was from losing the only woman he had ever and would ever love.

Being alone certainly did leave a lot of room for self pity, he thought to himself.

The air was growing warmer as springtime crept in. It was almost April now. The wind coated his bare chest and reminded him that his busiest season was about to be in full swing. Having a landscaping business in the north east meant slow winters but immensely busy springs and summers. The callouses that had just barely healed from the manual labor of the summer before were on his hand as proof.

He looked down the few floors to the streets below. A few early risers milling about, one or two people doing a clear walk of shame with their shoes in their hand, an old man walking his tiny dog. If Killian leaned forward out the window he could see into the building next door. It was that kind of area. Where each city block was a mish mash of structures packed together and converted into makeshift apartments for the influx of young people that had come to the central city part of Storybrooke in the past few years.

"Are you coming back to bed?" a low, feminine voice sounded from behind him.

Killian turned slightly to see the pretty woman who currently occupied the bed. She was still nude, all messy dark hair and big innocent eyes. She was far from innocent though, the way she had positioned herself amongst the mess of white sheets gave him ample view of her. Gracie, Lacie, Maizie, some name or other she had told him the night before in the bar that took up the building's first floor below.

"No." He remained curt in all endeavors of lust. "I wake with the sun."

"Why is that?"

She was pressing him. An act that normally didn't bode well for anyone.

"Because I don't like to waste the day."

"A day in bed isn't always wasteful… if you aren't alone…" she prodded. The woman rose from the bed, moving toward him as her bare feet carried her voluptuous form across the plank wood floors. Her fingers grazed his chest, barely skimming the place above his heart. For a second, Killian entertained it, briefly leaning into her touch. He waited to feel something, anything for her. But nothing happened.

Perhaps another time, another place, another version of himself would have found it endearing. But he was thirty years old and he wasn't still naive enough to believe a roll in the hay with a woman he met in a bar would turn into an epic romance. Whatever rum induced haze had drawn him to her last night was now gone.

"I think it's high time we said our goodbyes," he said gently, taking her hand in his and removing it from his chest.

Normally he would have been gone by now, leaving the woman to awake alone in his usual bedroom above the bar. It was simple. A small studio apartment with a kitchen roughly ten feet from the bed. If you could call it that, the stack of mattresses was hardly luxurious enough to be called a place where one slept. A nightstand held a lamp and the woman's purse, a dresser sat on the wall where the front door was. Other than that the room was bare. Empty. Despite its hollowness it held something to Killian. It was the room that all but had his name permanently written on the front door in place of the number. The room he had stayed in for nearly a year after he lost the remaining soul on this earth he cared for.

Below the apartment where Killian spent most of his weekend nights, there was a bar. One that was owned by his best friend Robin. The space was dark, even at this hour of the morning when the sun was rising to its height in the sky. The wood paneled walls a chestnut color, the black floors sticky with bottle caps and cherry stems, the stained glass light fixtures dimmed to a light glow, the haphazardly dispersed tables empty. There were no windows, only one door that offered a small peephole onto the street. It was dingy, it was grimey, but it had also been in business for a hundred years. Before it was Robin's it was his father's. It was a miracle with all the gentrification that it hadn't been completely overtaken by the bloggers and hipsters that now roamed the city center.

"I see you've returned in one piece," said Robin. Killian scratched behind his ear as he looked over to his friend, arranging the now clean glasses from the night before. The mirror behind the bar caught a bit of light as the sun cast a glow through the peephole. The Rose and the Thorn, read the white glossy letters. The bar's only hint of its namesake.

"I learned my lesson." Killian's tongue felt the inside of his jaw where the tightness still remained even weeks later.

Killian had spent his fair share of nights at Robin's bar, sleeping with nameless women who much like him just needed to get off and move on. For the most part the routine worked well, a night of unattached lust capped off by his swift departure in the morning. However, last time the woman he had slept with was under the impression that Killian was in love with her (he was not). When he tried to sneak out she had caught him and subsequently punched him square in the mouth.

"I take it you were kinder this time…"

"Aye, the perfect gentleman." Killian smirked. The look on Robin's face said he did not entirely believe him. "But I could use something cold, for the headache."

"If you keep this up you'll end up like our friend over there…" Robin stopped what he was doing and pointed to the man at the end of the bar. Half asleep. Beer spilled on the permanently sticky wood counter. "Bill hasn't left that spot in months."

Killian knew his friend was teasing, but there was something in his gut. A sliver of truth that made him imagine what he himself would look like in that position.

"Perhaps just a water for me then."

"How about some food as well. You look a bit narrow. Are you eating at home?"

"Yes, mother, I am." Killian rolled his eyes. It had been even worse when Liam was alive. His best friend and his brother hovering over Killian's every move as some form of pseudo parents. Killian wasn't much of a cook but he ate enough. Most of it was absolute garbage though.

If Robin felt the need to press him any further he pushed that aside. But the look he gave Killian said it all, he was concerned.

"I've been thinking of having your usual room steam cleaned and rented out as an Airbnb."

"A what?"

"A room where people can rent out, you know, pay to stay here…"

"Why would anyone want to do that?" Killian took a seat at the bar. Pulling out one of the heavy old stools that looked to be on its last legs. Literally.

"You tell me."

"So I've lost my spot for entertaining company?"

"There are car services now… you can literally use your phone to have a car take you to your own home instead of staying upstairs."

Car services ran rampant in Storybrooke now that bars and happy hours were becoming so popular. It certainly made sense, to avoid getting behind a wheel after drinking.

"It's just so much more efficient to use the apartment," Killian said back. The truth was he didn't want anyone at his house. His tiny, little house in the middle of nowhere.

"I only said I was thinking about it, and perhaps it would be good for you to date a woman the old fashioned way." Robin didn't meet his eyes as he said it, stacking the glasses along the shelf above the rows of alcohol. "You know, dinner… a movie… maybe a real conversation or two."

"I don't think I'm the dating type."

"You were at one point…"

Killian's jaw clenched and he looked up at his friend, who was only trying to help, but was also treading on delicate territory.

"Ah, Killian, what a surprise," said Ruby as she walked out of the door behind the bar. Still, she had two greasy to-go bags of what he could only assume was Granny's breakfast sandwiches in her hand. Granny's was the local diner that connected to the bar via a swinging door. Killian caught a whiff of the food being prepared in the kitchen. "Luckily I picked up enough for the two of you."

"Would you expect anything less of me on a Saturday morning?"

It was getting to be Killian's only tradition. Burning off a week of hard work with rum, women, and sex.

"I would find it odd if you weren't here actually," she remarked.

Ruby had been a friend for a while. Ever since he moved to the area. She was a tough lass and worked hard. Most days she spent helping her Granny at the diner and then would come to Robin's for tip money. That was how Killian and Liam had met them, just unwinding at a bar at the end of the work day. Twelve years later and the two were just about as close to family as Killian would ever have again. Everyone else was gone.

Killian devoured the sandwich in a few short bites. The egg and sausage and cheese wrapped in a buttery biscuit really hitting the spot. His head swirled but it didn't feel like it was from his alcohol induced evening. No. There was something deeper there. He looked again at the man slumped over the bar. Sweat stained and heavy, alone on a Saturday morning with his face in a pile of his own spit. Killian found it hard to picture the man anywhere else. Did he have a family? A wife? Anyone?

"I've got to get going," he said abruptly, standing from his stool. The morning was already too heavy for him. That was the thing with using indulgences to block out the cracks in the armor. They didn't last forever, and when the fog cleared, when his body sobered, his situation was no different than the night before.

He didn't wait for anyone to say anything else. Just walked out the door and around to the alley where his truck was parked.

Killian's mind often wandered as he drove. It was hard not to when, 7 years after Liam's death, there were reminders of him everywhere. It was Liam's truck that he Killian drove down a nameless highway. It was Liam's cheesy bobblehead dog that still sat on the dashboard. It was Liam's trailer that he pulled behind him. It was Liam's hard work that had started the business Killian hustled to keep alive.

And now with the surrounding suburbs becoming such a popular place to live, Jones Landscaping had been doing better than ever. All thanks to the wasteland of manicured trees and strip malls and chain restaurants all frequented by the area's affluent residents. It was where creative souls went to die and he felt his growing weaker by the day.

The location had never been such a bother when Liam was alive, afterall it was his older brother who had offered him a job after Killian had been in need of an income at 15 years old. But as the city of Storybrooke grew more popular, the outer suburbs flourished. Housing development, one right after the other was built and that was where Liam saw there was a niche. He was smart, he had cornered the market all on his own.

"Only until I find something else," Killian had said at the time, the mantra he recited in his head during sweat filled summers and grueling work. That was nearly fifteen years ago, and here he was still driving the old red truck with the massive trailer that said Jones Landscaping in black letters along the side.

It was his busy season. April. When the north east begins to bloom again after a rough winter. The leaves grow green on trees, flowers scatter the earth, and the air is warm enough to be outside. So most every day of the week he had somewhere he needed to be. Today he would be in one of the original developments. The houses growing larger and larger the further out he drove until he pulled up to the sign that read, Emerald Forest.

Across the street from the neighborhood Killian was pulling into he caught sight of the Gold Construction sign. Advertising their handiwork on yet another demolished woodland area to make room for more homes. Killian felt his hands tighten on the wheel, knuckles going white.

He took a deep breath and turned his head away to focus on the road. In due time, the truth would reveal itself. He had to believe that.

Once past the front gates, he slowly maneuvered through the neighborhood where the town's Mayor lived. Killian took a few swigs from the coffee he had stopped for along the way and filled his lungs with deep breaths. Carefully, he attached his prosthetic hand then slid the gardening gloves overtop.

"Almost done with those rose bushes?" Regina Mills said from the back porch of her mini mansion. Killian was in the backyard, working along the pathway to ensure her mother Cora's precious roses looked pristine. The Mills, Storybrooke's First Family, was one of Liam's original clients. Between Regina Mills being the town's first female government official, her fiance Graham Humbert being the chief of police, and her sister Zelena being the superintendent of the school district, they had quite the resume.

Killian had come with Liam his first day working, the Emerald Forest neighborhood had been nothing more than a few half complete homes and dirt. The mayor's house had been the first that was done. The massive white columned house required hours of work to get ready for the warmer months. The front yard, with its stately shaped shrubs that lined the brick walkway and delicately planted lilies, it was all Liam's creation.

"Just about," Killian said with as much patience as he could muster. The Mayor seemed to have a real ax to grind today. Being that she had checked on him nearly twenty times in the past hour. All while he mowed, weeded, pruned the backyard to her liking. "You will be the first notified when I am."

He gritted through his teeth. But the Mayor was no idiot, she knew he hated to be bothered while working. Most anyone did not like to work with someone hovering over them, but for whatever reason it seemed landscaping was fascinating to people. He always had an audience.

This could be for a lot of reasons, he often thought to himself as he worked with eyes on his back. It could be because people wanted to ensure their yards came out the way they wanted. It could be because there was nothing better to do than be outside on a warm spring day. Or it could be because most of the women who lived in this neighborhood looked at him like he was a tall glass of iced water on an otherwise deserted island.

"Well, hurry it up. My mother will be home soon and if the bushes aren't finished she'll have to cancel the Garden Party tomorrow."

Ensuring his face was still concealed from Mayor Mills he rolled his eyes. The idea of rose bushes causing anyone to cancel anything was laughable to him that he could hardly swallow his comment. But if he knew Cora Mills, and at this point he thought he did, she was serious about appearances. The world these people lived in was so small they wouldn't know what to do when faced with a real problem.

A few moments later he was done. The backyard was pristine. The lawn mowed to the appropriate height. The weeds pulled from the cobbled brick patio and paths that spanned the backyard. The hedges trimmed to symmetrical perfection. He had other staff. His friend Will often assisted with the business. Robin worked occasionally when he needed the extra income. And in the summer months when school was out, Killian had several high school aged kids assist in the smaller tasks. But the Emerald Forest homes were easily the most expensive in the surrounding area, so he rarely trusted anyone else with this neighborhood on their own.

It certainly would have been nice to have an extra set of hands today though. Killian wiped his forehead down, now beading with sweat and headed to his truck.

While he sat in the front seat, he caught sight of a large moving van in front of the newest house on the street. One house down from Mayor Mills. Separated by the home of Granny, as in Granny's Diner, where she and Ruby lived. The original houses that had been there had been torn down to make room for what was now a custom built, colonial style green monstrosity.

It was the house that the developer's son would be moving into. Killian had been contracted to do the landscaping.

Neal Gold. Son of Robert Gold, the man who had built this neighborhood and most others in the area. As much as Killian despised the idea of it, heat rushing in anger beneath his skin, he knew that if he wanted to continue working in these neighborhoods he would have to bite his tongue and do it.

The house was a blank canvas for him, it had only just been finished structurally a week ago. It had been a while since he had designed anything from scratch. He had always been better at working than networking. Liam was the people person. But now he had to be both.

Killian had also been advised that the younger Mr. Gold's wife would be helping with the design. Some activity for a bored housewife to distract her from the extracurricular activities of her future husband, no doubt. He had seen it time and time again.

He watched the couple from his truck for a moment, his curiosity getting the better of him knowing he wasn't supposed to report to their house to meet them until Monday morning. The man had brown hair cut close to his head and wore jeans and a button up shirt. Even casually it looked expensive. Next to him stood who Killian could only assume to be the Mrs.

His eyes were drawn to her and he could not put a finger on why. She was certainly pretty, though he did not typically go for blondes. Perhaps it was that she stood out against the backdrop of the neighborhood. Her long blonde hair that hung down her back in loose curls, and jeans that hugged her figure. Perhaps it was her stance, that her crossed arms and unsmiling face indicated she was unimpressed. He wondered about her.

The next thing he noticed though was the giant rock on her ring finger. It caught the light of the mid afternoon sun and glinted right in his direction. Stay away, it called to him.

Taking a sip of water from his bottle he recalled the indisputable fact that he was better on his own. Living a life uncomplicated by any emotional attachment. And if that were true of his life he wouldn't feel like such a goddamn hypocrite all of the time. Because his motivations were almost entirely shaped by the complications of his past, with his next move right now being no exception.

Emma

For as many times Emma had moved in her lifetime, one would assume it was a process she was unrattled by anymore. If she wasn't able to fit an item in her backpack to move with her to the next place, it wasn't important. Foster homes have that effect on a person. But now she had a lot of things, as was evidenced by the extended moving truck trailing behind her car. And her stomach was so unsettled she had to tuck her legs against it to stabilize the churning feeling.

"We're almost there," said Neal from the driver's seat without looking over at her. Her husband had driven them all the way from the apartment they shared in Boston. The two hour car ride being the longest she had spent during waking hours with Neal since they got married six months ago. Her feet rested bare on the dashboard and she toyed with the watch on her wrist. The rose gold face of it catching the hints of sun. She spun her diamond ring on her finger to give her hands something to do.

"I can tell," Emma replied looking at her new surroundings. She was a city girl, always had been. So when Neal told her they needed to move to the suburbs of Maine she almost lost it. Scratch that she did lose it. She had had left their apartment for three days, with absolutely no intention of returning, but then something changed.

Emma thought back to those three days. It was January in the north east, so gloomy and cold and snowy. She had contemplated moving, perhaps some place warm. At least for the time being. But it's easier said than done when one grows up alone and has a shot at a normal adult life. Within those three days she had gone back to Neal, as she always did, and agreed to relocate with him. They were married after all, this was a person she had promised to be with. What else could she possibly do?

"So many neighborhoods," she commented. The sight of each passing sign for yet another complex named after a type of tree or flower made her want to sigh. And when Neal turned the car off of the main road into a gated community labeled Emerald Forest, Emma knew she was approaching her new home. The fountain beneath the black cursive scripted sign was flowing and surrounded by flowers that had yet to bloom. It was manicured, it was symmetrical, it was unnatural.

"Neal and Emma Gold," her husband said into the speaker at the guard's tower. The fact that there even needed to be a security guard for an upper middle class neighborhood made Emma roll her eyes.

Neal looked over at her.

"It's just easier if I used the same last name."

"It's okay," she said calmly when in her head she was a bit defensive. Though, sure, plenty of women took their husband's last name she clung to hers. Swan. She grew up with no one, and no roots, her last name was all she had of her past.

A buzzing sound as the gates opened brought Emma's gaze forward, and she watched as her new home was revealed in front of her. The street was quiet, save for the sound of running kids and automated sprinkler systems to keep the lawns their perfect shade of green. On either side of the winding streets were sprawling craftsman homes of varying colors. Some had little distinctions to tell it apart from its neighbor. One had flower boxes, another had a white fence, some had shutters and others had porches. All well kept and pristine.

"This was the first neighborhood my dad ever built," Neal boasted as they drove through. "It was done in under six months."

"Your dad certainly works quickly," said Emma.

Robert Gold was the most prominent real estate and construction developer in all of Maine. If there was neighborhood or an apartment complex or a strip mall in the area, chances were Gold Construction was behind it. The company carried a lot of weight, which was partially why they were moving here. Mr. Gold was getting older, and who could he trust to run his company after he was gone but his only son?

They pulled onto a small cul de sac, with only about six homes taking up the landscape. Emma looked out her window to the place she would call home. It was massive, far too big for two people. Everything about it dripping in excess. Emma had looked online at the place, the layout, the floor plan but now standing in front of it made it all more looming. It was sage green color, soft with white trim. A front porch framed by pillars spanned the entire front. She followed the lines upward to note the balcony on the second floor and the dormers jutting from the third floor. Evenly laid bricks made up the driveway and path up toward the house, but aside from the structure the area surrounding the house was bare.

"So the landscaping has not been done yet. I thought maybe you could brainstorm some ideas for that…" Neal said when they got out of the car. Emma stood on the sidewalk, she had not even realized her arms had automatically crossed until Neal's arm wrapped around her.

It surprised her that after all of this time he still didn't know that she hated the idea of having a yard. But she swallowed that. For now, anyway.

"Thanks."

"Come on, Em," he said taking her hands. His fingers toying with the diamond ring she wore on her finger. "I know it isn't ideal but, we can make it home."

Emma eyed him. Between the depths of his eyes, the furrow in his brow, the way his head ducked just the slightest bit so she was looking right at him, she noted the first trace of sincerity about moving her here. For just a second, she let herself believe it.

"Hi!" A chipper voice snapped Emma out of whatever daze she had found herself in. "Are you the new neighbors?"

Emma turned to look at the person who the voice belonged to, now only a few steps away. She had short, deep brown hair. Her round face framed by the pixie cut, and a smile that seemed to be plastered on.

"I'm Mary Margaret Nolan, I live right across the street with my husband David," said the woman, with her sing song voice. Her hand pointed toward the pale gray farmhouse that faced theirs. It was cute, smaller, more civilized, and overflowing with plants and cheesy lawn figurines. It was the first sign of haphazard quirkiness and Emma decided she liked it.

"Neal Gold… and this is my wife Emma," Neal chimed, shaking the young woman's hand.

"Gold, as in, Gold Construction?"

"Yes, that's my father. We figured moving close to family would be better now that we're settling down."

The word 'we' coming from Neal's mouth was almost funny to Emma. This move had not involved a single 'we' effort.

But then his phone rang, and the dotting husband mask came off. The one Emma had started to believe in the throes of a normal conversation with a neighbor.

"Excuse me ladies, I have to take this." And he was gone, moving just a touch above a casual pace toward where the driveway led to the garage.

"We were wondering who would be living in the new house, it was the only empty one on the street," said Mary Margaret.

Her skin looked so soft, it reminded Emma of a porcelain doll she once saw in a store window. As much as Emma had her guard up being here, the woman seemed to radiate with friendliness. And not really in the bad way that usually made Emma suspicious.

"I like your gnomes," said Emma, noting the several tiny garden figurines that were dispersed in this Mary Margaret's front yard.

"Yeah, they're cute. They kind of started as a joke between neighbors and I didn't have the heart to get rid of them."

So that was the kind of neighborhood this was, where everyone was actually friends. Emma had lived in apartments as soon as she was able to afford them… and apartment neighbors did not have the same friendly outlook this place appeared to.

It was too perfect, like even the bugs didn't dare land on a leaf that didn't belong to them.

The movers began unloading the truck, the sound jarring Emma from her fixation on the scenery.

"I see you've got some unpacking to do," said the woman, drawing Emma's attention back to her. "I'm sure I'll see you around though."

"It was nice meeting you," Emma replied. And with that the woman was off. A bit of a hop to her step as she strolled across the street to her cute little house.

Emma's eyes shifted in time to notice the approach of a burnt red truck. Whomever it was climbed out and began walking toward her just as Neal was. What was this a meet and greet?

"Emma, this is the new landscaper Killian Jones," Neal said as he reached her side. She did not miss the shake of his voice as he said it. And the way his arm suddenly snaked around her waist. "He'll be doing the work for the outside of the house."

Emma eyed the man Neal referred to as Killian Jones. He was dressed simply, work pants and boots with a white t shirt. She surveyed him as anyone would, taking in his appearance. His angular face cracked a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. His blue eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, his soft English accent surprising her. She hoped it didn't show on her face as they shook hands. He had removed one of his rough gloves to reveal a hand that was covered in calluses and welts. Marks of which Neal had none. Sitting behind a desk didn't naturally give you work-worn skin.

"Likewise," she said tentatively. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Neal, who had his gaze on their touching hands.

She tugged hers away, wondering why in the world Neal would hire a gardener who looked like this. Had he not seen a picture? Sure, she was married but she wasn't fucking blind. With his dark hair and rough beard. A hot gardener was the most cliche suburban thing she had seen on every tv show and in every romance novel. Not that she read them.

"I was doing some work across the street for Mayor Mills and saw the moving truck, figured I would introduce myself." When the man offered explanation he looked directly at her... not Neal.

"I've given him some guidelines of what I want done but other than that you two have free reign," Neal chimed in. Emma looked over at him fully now to try to detect any sort of test behind his words. She came up with nothing.

"I'll allow the two of you to get settled, I have a few other things in the neighborhood to tend to today. But perhaps sometime Monday morning we can go over the plans?"

When Killian asked the question, he again looked directly at her.

"Monday works."

"Excellent," he said back, turning again to Neal. The second of decency where every decision made wasn't passed through her husband, was gone. The two men shook hands, and Emma noticed that Killian still wore the one gardening glove on his left hand.

"It was nice to meet you, Mr Gold and..."

"You can just call me Emma. Emma Swan," she said back proudly. Perhaps a little too proudly.

"Emma Swan," he nodded. And with that he was off, walking away toward where his truck was.

Almost as soon as Killian had moved away from them, Neal's grasp on her waist fell.

"That was my dad on the phone, before. I've got some work to take care of this afternoon, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to her temple that burned more than it soothed. "Make sure the movers are careful not to drop anything."

"Is it absolutely necessary that you go? What could possibly be so important right this second?" she pried.

"Em, I wouldn't go if it wasn't important, okay?" he looked at her, probably wondering where this side of her was coming from.

An odd feeling settled over Emma as Neal climbed into the Range Rover and drove off. She looked around at the neighborhood and then at the house she would be living in again. As a young girl, she had ached for this kind of life. The kind of stability that came from living in a safe part of town. A nice, big house with a front porch and a husband who ensured her life was secure. She would try to enjoy it. It could be lovely, if she found a way to personalize it like that Mary Margaret had to her home. And Emma supposed in time she would have to get to know her surrounding neighbors. But for right now she settled on looking at them from a distance. After all, everyone had a story.

The cosy, cottage like yellow house next door that had an older woman on the porch in a rocking chair.

The stately all white monstrosity that sat next to it, where a little boy played in the front yard.

The pale blue one with a white arched gateway at the sidewalk, a small dog running about in the front yard with two little girls.

The fun, farmhousey one that Mary Margaret and her husband lived in.

Emma made her way up the front steps of the house. Entering the stale foyer, with its gray tile floor and white walls that extended upward two floors to a skylight. No one had lived here yet, she and Neal would be the first. They would fill this house with all of their things. And as she watched the moving crew carry box after box, couches and chairs, bed frames, dressers, she thought of how their physical belongings were the only things that would fill the house.

Between them, they had a lot of 'things'. Neal had been in her life a long time. They were both nearing thirty, so it had been years since she first met him when she was 17 years old.

The irony was not lost on her that the longest running relationship she had with anyone, was a complete and total sham.


	2. Chapter 2

**ANNOUNCEMENT: so sorry for the delay in posts. I was traveling for a few weeks then immediately upon returning home I got some sort of cold/flu. So it was a big old mess. Posting will be more regular now that everything's on track, thank you for your patience. And I hope you enjoy!**

 **Word Count: EXACTLY 6000**

 **Disclaimer: All rights to OUAT I own nothing**

 **Aaaaand shout out to resident_of_storybrooke for being my beta!**

Sundays. Known to most as a day of rest, a day of worship, a day for family. Which was why, every other Sunday, Killian took the day off to drive the two hours to the Maine Women's Correctional Facility for visitation hours.

He pulled his truck into the visitor's parking lot, feeling his body shift into autopilot as he exited the car and made his way to the processing center. He knew the rules, the things that weren't allowed to go passed the barbed wire gates. How to make the day as painless as it possibly could be. No blue denim. No hats. No metal buttons. He kept two keys on a ring that he needed to get back into his car and some id but that was all.

The waiting room had a familiar smell to him now. The stale office air that permeated the dated wallpaper and fake flowers. It was small, only a few chairs spaced out around the four walls. There was one door in, and one door that led to the visitation room.

"Good morning, Darlene," Killian said to the older woman sitting behind the glass partition. She had worked here every Sunday for as long as he could remember. She was a waif of a woman, with smile lines and wrinkled hands. But she was kind to everyone and always greeted him with a pleasant face. "Killian Jones, to see Alice Jones."

He slid his drivers license across the formica counter and through the slot in the glass partition.

"Of course," Darlene smiled, putting her glasses on to type away at his visitor's badge. "You know the drill."

"Aye, at this point I could do this with my eyes closed."

He took the adhesive name tag and applied it to his t shirt while Darlene notified the guards he was here. Though he really could navigate this whole process blindfolded, it was protocol.

"You can go in now."

Killian walked down the long hallway to the visitor's room he was so familiar with now. The hospital white floors and walls only amplified by the fluorescent lighting. When he reached the door he waited to be buzzed in, and upon providing his pass to the guards he was granted entrance.

Waiting to see her never got any easier. No matter how many times he did it the first sight of her in the all beige uniform with her hands in cuffs caught him off guard. Today was no different, as he felt his chest tighten at the sight of his mother entering the room and escorted to the seat across from him. He still had to close his eyes when the guard undid her handcuffs.

"Hi, mum," he said into the telephone on his side of the glass partition.

"Killian, I'm so glad to see you."

"Me too." He couldn't help but soften a bit when he looked at his mother. She was quite lovely, even behind bars. Which made it harder for him to watch her live this way. "How have you been?"

"As well as can be expected I suppose." Her blue eyes looked around the rest of the room. Of his mother and father, Killian had taken after his mother in the appearance department. Both of them with their jet black hair and blue eyes. Angular faces and tall, narrow builds. "Are you eating? You look thin, Killian."

He rolled his eyes, now, at the second person to bring it up.

"Yes, I am eating. Quite well actually." It was a lie but there was no way for her to know that.

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

"How's work? Busy again, I hope?" she asked. Her black hair framing her face. It had gotten so long. There was a time when it just barely reached her shoulders.

"Picking up a bit, you know how it is this time of year. Everyone wants their yards magically transformed overnight. You wouldn't believe the lengths these people go to outdo each other. I just don't understand what kind of person cares that much about something so minute."

"People who have nothing real to worry about, I suppose," a wry smile crossed his mother's face. "We were never those people."

"No we were not."

Killian's mind reverted back to what his life was like before he lost both parents in one night. His father had come from London with nothing in his pocket. But being that the man was a nasty drunk he never gained much more in the span of his lifetime in America. He did though catch the eye of Killian's mother.

They had been poor, dirt poor actually. Living in a tiny house. The four of them. Some months they didn't have heat, others their water got shut off. There was always something.

"But just because these people appear to have it all, that doesn't mean they do," his mother said, bringing his attention back to her. "Everyone has secrets, some are just better at pretending than others."

He remembered his mother doing quite a lot of pretending before she had wound up here. Pretending like the electricity was out for the whole town, not just them. Pretending like the bruises on her arms came from bumping into walls and doors. Pretending like everything would be okay in the morning, when usually it just brought another storm.

"A new house was built in the neighborhood where Liam got his start, the developer's son. He's asked me to do the landscaping."

"That's good news, maybe if he likes you he'll find a way to merge the two," a smile graced her face. "Your landscaping with his construction."

"Perhaps…" It was certainly easier to mask the goings on of his colorful past when his mum had no way of knowing her son's real motivations for working with Gold. In fact no one did, it was a secret that would stay with him.

The Gold project would begin in the morning, and his mind drifted to that large, monstrous house built for only two people.

"Are you alright, Killian, you seem a bit… off?" she asked when they were nearing the end of their two hour visit.

"Fine, just a bit tired I suppose." He smiled trying to reassure her. Whatever life he lived outside of this prison, he was able to edit for his mother's ears when he saw her.

"Well, get more rest. The bags under your eyes are darker every time you come here."

Her hand started to drift upward, reaching toward the glass the partition. Killian wished they could just have lunch together, or sit across from each other at a regular table. But the reality of the situation was that she was in for a violent crime. So their visits were highly supervised.

"Are there any special ladies in your life?" she asked. The question always came up, no matter how hard he fought to steer the conversation other ways, she persisted.

"No, none on the horizon," he said quietly. There was only one of these visits where he had remotely hinted at his romantic life. It was instinct, and he wanted so badly to tell her about Milah but by the time he had worked up that confidence she was gone.

"You're too handsome to be so alone."

"I do just fine out there in the real world, thank you very much."

"I'm sure you do but it's still nice to have a partner."

He knew he could say a thousand negative things about his view on relationships. He knew he could bring up the fact that he had a horrible example of one growing up. But instead he swallowed those. There was no need to waste the little time he had here on their family's murky past.

"If the day ever comes, you will be the first person I tell," he placated. Killian hoped the conversation would end there and thankfully it did, they moved onto other topics. It was too hard for him to sit across from his mother and not tell her everything.

"Take care of yourself," she said right before the guards came to escort her back to her cell. "Next time I see you I want those dark circles gone."

"Alright, mum," he said back. Trying his best to match her smile.

Each time Killian visited his mother in prison, a little part of him stayed there with her. She was the only family he had left, and he felt a constant pang of worry that he would never again see her out in the real world. She had been behind bars for almost 20 years now, and was up for parole this year.

The day Killian had lost his father was the same day he had lost his mother. The word loss meant two different things in this case, as his father was dead and his mother had been the one who had killed him. He was 10 years old when it happened. The night his mum took a shotgun to the back of Brennan Jones.

It was self-defense, the lawyer had argued. Unfortunately for his mother, the jury found the circumstances to be more incriminating than not. There had been more than one shot fired. The fact that each had been to his back. Then of course, Brennan's autopsy revealed more wounds than one. A random stab wound had punctured his there was the matter of where exactly the shotgun had come from. It was not registered, neither had a license. How premeditated was it?

Despite the logical case of the wife trying to save herself from her volatile husband, she was found guilty. It still made him seethe with anger. But in the end she would receive the maximum twenty five years, with a parole hearing at twenty.

Driving away from where he had to leave his mother, in the building surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers hurt his heart each time. But in another two weeks he would come back. As he always did. Because she was all he had left.

The ride back was always quiet. Killian never listened to music on the drive, no radio. He would just leave the windows rolled down and let the wind hit his face. Even when Liam was alive, and would make the drive with him, it was quiet.

Though Liam had a harder time visiting their mother than Killian did. He supposed it was because his brother resented their mother in ways that Killian didn't. After all, Liam was the one who had to care for Killian. When their father died, Liam was 17, and in an effort to stay out of the system, they couch hopped from relative to relative until Liam turned 18 and could legally become Killian's guardian.

Liam didn't say much on the visits. He still made the drive when Killian couldn't because he was fourteen. Liam always made sure that every other Sunday their mum had a visitor.

When he arrived back at his house, Killian cracked open a beer from the fridge and sat alone on the beige leather couch. The whole place was rather sparse, but he didn't need much. The kitchen and living room were a combined space. The walls lined with real dark wood paneling and the floor half wood, half tile. A window sat above the couch, blinds drawn, and a small fireplace was opposite where he sat that he often burned wood in during the winters.

At one point the breakfast nook had been used for a small kitchen table but had, in recent years, been used as a home office for Killian. It had a few windows that allowed him to look out toward the stream that ran through the woods.

He removed his boots and crossed his feet over the surface of his coffee table. If nothing else his house was always spotless. While he could certainly afford more nowadays, the house had been a purchase of his and Liam's. He had lived with his brother in a one bedroom apartment long enough and after a few years of running a growing business the two finally had enough for a down payment. So at 20 years old he became a homeowner alongside his brother. It wasn't much, but it was all theirs.

He looked at the clock on the microwave above the stove and it read 4:00 pm. Killian had nothing to do for the rest of the day. Every other Sunday, when he made the trip to see his mother, he made sure the rest of his day was empty. Work was for the most part off limits, and he often had some high school aged help or one of his other employees. He had about 5 or 6 now, which was massive compared to the days when it had just been he and his brother.

Killian got up and tossed his half-consumed beer in the trash. He didn't really want it anymore, he just wanted to take a nap. The night before he hadn't slept a wink. All he could think about was working for Gold. Or more appropriately his son.

Down the hall off the kitchen there were four doors. One was a linen closet, that held his back up set of towels and his backup set of sheets. Another door led to the house's only bathroom. The third door was the room that once belonged to Liam and had not been entered since his brother's passing. And the fourth led to Killian's bedroom. It had a simple queen size bed frame with dark blue bedding, a dresser and two windows. The walls were the same wood paneling but with some built in shelves above his bed.

He crashed onto his bed face first and then flipped to get comfortable. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the printed out email chain from Neal Gold that sat on his dresser. He reached out and grabbed it, reading through the notes the man had sent him in regards to his newest project.

For someone who was leaving the task to his wife, the man certainly had a lot of rules. The inground pool in the backyard was already in place, so Killian would need to design around that. A lima bean shaped hole in the ground that would need to be filled.

No palms, ferns or daisies.

He was to use the bricks selected to carve out pathways.

No poured concrete.

Real grass in the front yard, sod is to be used in the back.

Killian ran his hand through his hair. The man certainly knew what he wanted. Which was probably how he had landed a woman like his wife. Emma Swan. He would have been lying if he said he hadn't imagined what it would be like to come home to someone like her. A thought so out of character for him, he could hardly believe it had crossed his mind.

He would be around her quite a bit in the coming weeks, and could not afford to allow himself the blonde distraction. He had other things in mind, things that had nothing to do with his boss's wife.

But had everything to do with the Gold family. The people he knew, had more control of the town than anyone else was aware.

Though when his head hit the pillow and his body relaxed into a dreamlike state, he found that for the first time Milah was not there. The woman occupying those corners of his mind was very much so Emma Swan.

Emma could hear the sound of each car that pulled onto the street, as the Mills Garden Party began. She could then hear the rumblings of familiar greetings between guests, as neighbors did. The mingled conversations drifting up through the air to the open bathroom window where Emma was getting ready.

"Em, we've got to get going!" Neal called to her from the downstairs. The floor plan of the house was so open, you could hear everything quite easily.

Emma took one more look at herself in the floor length mirror. She wore a blue and white striped cotton jumpsuit, with a bow in the front. Her long blonde hair was braided to the side, an attempt to encase all of the wild curls. She wore simple jewelry. Stud earrings. A watch and some bracelets. The diamond ring on her finger that felt just a tad too heavy today. It certainly took her a bit longer to get ready, as she had been single handedly organizing the house since they arrived yesterday.

"We're already late and we hardly have an excuse, we live across the street." Neal appeared in the doorway. His khaki pants ironed, the crisp white shirt unbuttoned just a bit. His dark brown leather loafers a few inches from where her shoes were strewn on the tile floor.

"Could you hand me those?" Emma asked with a doe eyed look and a deliberate lack of urgency.

Neal huffed just a bit but otherwise remained quiet as he handed her the wedge heels. Emma took them, slowly, and strapped them onto her feet.

"There. Can we go now?" Neal's hands went to his hips. A lot of other people would have just gone with it, complied and left. But Emma was not a fan of the attitude. Especially when he had abandoned her yesterday, to do God knows what, while she completely assembled the house he had wanted to move into.

"Do you think these look alright?"

"What?"

"The shoes… I didn't have time to do my toes today, and I think it may be too early in the year for anything open toed…"

Neal's eyes shut and she could almost see him putting on little kid gloves to speak to her next.

"I think they look fine," he finally said.

"Are you sure?"

Not that she actually gave a damn.

"Yes." His eyes opened again and he looked at her. "Emma, you know how important this is for me tonight."

He took two steps closer to her and grabbed her forearms. His grasp just a touch too tight. She didn't physically flinch at his touch, but her instincts did.

"The mayor needs to sign off on the expansions we want to make in the community. My future at my dad's company rides on this project."

Emma rested her hand on his chest, and tried to find anything behind his eyes. She looked for anything in his expression that hinted at this future for them and not just him.

"Okay," she said calmly. She was pretty sure that the color finally returned to her face when his hands dropped to her waist and pulled her in for a brief kiss.

The garden party at the Mills house across the street was in full swing by the time Emma and Neal arrived. The sun was just beginning to set and the backyard was lit by colored lanterns on strings hung above. Emma felt the warmth of Neal's familiar hand on her back as they walked the pathway to the pool's patio where everyone seemed to be congregating.

The yard was lush and green, with minimal amounts of flowers. Save for the rose bushes near the back porch. Plenty of trees that looked as though they had been growing for hundreds of years. It was totally private, one could not even tell there were homes on either side of this yard.

A band was set up playing light classical music on the wooden deck off of the house. Stone paths created a maze of routes throughout the sizable backyard. One leading to a gazebo covered in vines where a bar was set up. One led to the pool area in the far left corner. One led to a play place on the right side. A long table was set up in the center that must have had nearly fifty seats, elegantly decorated with white flowers and linens. It was by far the nicest house on the block.

"Son, I'm so glad you could make it," Neal's father said greeting them when they reached the pool area. His father looked quite different than Neal. They both had the same dark eyes but that was where the physical similarities ended. However, she was starting to see more and more of his father in him as of late. "And Miss Swan, you as well."

"Nice to see you," she said flatly. Emma never liked Neal's father, and to be quite honest he didn't like her either.

"Son, if you'll come with me I think the mayor has a few things she would like to discuss before dinner is served." Neal nodded to his father, as obedient as a child.

Without so much as a glance back at her, Neal followed his father over to a different portion of the yard. There they began speaking to a regal looking woman in an elegant, off-white lace dress that came just below the knee. The mayor, Emma noted. With her voluminous dark hair and large eyes she was strikingly beautiful. On her arm was a man Emma assumed to be Mr. Mayor to be… or more appropriately from his badge he was a cop. The way their body language kept them near to one another made Emma just the tiniest bit jealous.

She could follow Neal, trail along and insist she be close just as the mayor's fiance did but Emma had done that before. She didn't want to chase after him.

"Emma!" an upbeat voice caught her attention. It belonged to Mary Margaret, the woman she had met yesterday who lived across the street. Only this time she was accompanied by a man with dusty blonde hair and a friendly face. "This is my husband David, David this is Emma our new neighbor."

"Nice to meet you," said Emma coolly and extending her hand to shake David's. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other, the picture felt complete. As nice as it was, it only made her notice how incomplete her own was. "My husband Neal is somewhere around here… business never takes a break I suppose."

She noticed just the tiniest bit of sympathy in Mary Margaret's eyes at her statement. Perhaps Emma had sounded too bitter.

A waiter approached them carrying champagne flutes on a round tray, quickly Emma took one and began sipping. There were quite a lot of people in the backyard. Done up as if this were Easter Sunday on the White House lawn.

"Mary Margaret tells me your husband is the son of the man who built this neighborhood," David said procuring his own champagne flute.

"Yeah, that's the reason we moved all the way out here, so that Neal could work for his father."

"What about you?" he asked.

Emma tapped her ring on the side of the glass, it was complicated.

"I've done a lot of things," she circled the conversation. "I was a waitress for a long time. But more recently I was a personal trainer. I worked at a gym in Boston."

"You guys, the crab rolls are insane," said a woman with long, dark hair and bright red lips said approaching them. "Here try one."

Mary Margaret took the napkin that held the crab roll and took a bite. Then quickly recovered to give Emma the polite, neighborly introduction.

"Ruby this is Emma, she and her husband just moved in next door to you." The girl with the long dark hair smiled at Emma, regarding her but also appearing to survey her. "Ruby doesn't normally come to these things but since Granny's wasn't catering she has the night off."

"My grandma and I have a restaurant in town. We do a lot of the food for these events but we certainly don't have crab rolls like this."

"I'll have to try it sometime," Emma said politely, wondering how long she would have to wait for these people to start spilling the tea on this place.

"Emma was just telling us she used to be a personal trainer in Boston," Mary Margaret unfortunately circled the conversation back to her.

"Oh.. wow that's why your arms are so toned," said the girl named Ruby between bites. She was tall and thin, and wore a red romper that hug her narrow frame. "Mary Margaret and I have been trying to exercise for years!"

"Trying?" Emma looked at the two women, clearly there was some sort of joke she was missing.

"Yeah, well, we always say we're going to train together and do some race… or like start kickboxing. But we always end up bailing."

Emma smiled a bit at that.

"I mean, if you guys need someone to work out with, I'm available," Emma said, surprising even herself at the extended offer. "I try to run everyday."

"That'd be great," said Mary Margaret with the permanent smile that seemed to be etched on her face. But for whatever reason, it didn't read to Emma as disingenuous.

"Alright but I hate running so maybe we can do other things," Ruby chimed in. "And maybe not on the weekends."

"I'll think of something," Emma sipped her champagne. At least it would give her people to talk to during the day. If the first 24 hours of her new life in town were any indication, she would be spending a lot of time without Neal.

Her eyes shifted to where he was standing, nonchalantly discussing whatever plans his father had in store for the further development of suburbia. Eventually she would question him about it, after all she had a right to know. His eyes met hers for a second and he smiled before waving her over. Oh, so now she was invited to the conversation?

"Who did these rose bushes, Cora? They're absolutely stunning." Emma heard voices walking behind her as she made her way across the lawn to Neal. She felt like it was just second nature for her to eavesdrop anymore.

"Killian Jones," said who she assumed was Cora. "He did the whole yard."

"Oh he did my sister's lawn and it came out incredible." The woman's voice lowered an octave for the next part. "And of course he isn't exactly hard on the eyes either."

A third woman spoke up, "when he does the hedges shirtless I watch from my bedroom window. It's just too good not to."

The group of them all erupted in giggles and other quick, inappropriate remarks followed. Emma couldn't help but be amused at their comments, proving her initial impression of her new gardener to have been accurate.

As she finished crossing the lawn Emma felt just a tad out of place. Sure she had been to upscale events with Neal before. But this was different. This wasn't just an event, it was in someone's home. It was a lifestyle. This was how these people lived most days of the week. She wasn't sure if she was being paranoid or not, but it felt to her like every set of eyes in the yard were on her as she made her way to stand next to Neal. Fulfilling her role as the dotting wife with effortless pantomime.

In the morning, Emma awoke in the bed of her new home. Alone. The other side had been pulled down. Neal had come home but was already gone for the day.

She had left the party before he had, excusing herself politely from the crowd of small talkers. When he kissed her goodbye he had promised to be home soon after. Emma picked up the shirt he had worn last night and inhaled its scent. When did she become the type of wife who smelled her husband's clothes for inconsistencies?

A quiet sigh escaped her mouth. She glanced at her watch on the bedside table, the face reading 7 am. It was too early in the day to feel this defeated.

Putting on leggings, Nikes and Neal's Boston University t-shirt she had cut to fit her, she set off for a run. Exercise took her mind off of things. There were certainly worse habits one could have for ignoring the brutal truths of life. And Emma had most definitely faced worse things where, more often than not, she was her own hero.

The morning was a still quiet, something that she wasn't used to. She had always lived in a city. The congestion and noise and smells from living on tightly packed blocks more familiar to her than the wide open spaces. The streets that weren't lined with parallel parked cars because everyone had driveways. The sprawling lawns that set the homes far back from the sidewalk.

Emma pushed her legs onward, alternating between sprint and jog when she felt herself obsessing over the scent of Neal's shirt.

When the movers were unloading the truck on Saturday, she noticed several boxes that contained brand new workout equipment. An elliptical, sets of weights, mats, a bench, a medicine ball, a stationary bike, and a treadmill. All a gift from Neal to make up for moving her to the middle of nowhere.

But Emma hated treadmills. It never made much sense to her to run in place.

After an hour she decided it would be best to head back. Emma had passed a school bus and some morning walkers, watched as people kissed their spouses goodbye. The world was waking up for the day, which meant she had to quit running.

Her game plan was to run straight into the house and upstairs to the master bathroom where she would take a well deserved shower. The sweat coating her body would wash off and the several shower nozzles would soothe her soon to be aching limbs. She hadn't exerted herself that much in months probably, winter being hard for outdoor training. But when Emma rounded the bend to Willow Lane, she noticed a truck parked in front of her house.

"Hello?" she called out. There was a man on her front porch, facing toward the door. Her chest tightened a bit. However, when he turned around she remembered exactly who he was.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gold… er Swan…?," Killian Jones stumbled over what to call her but at least he remembered Swan. He strolled down the front steps to the pathway from the driveway. He wore jeans today, ones that fit him snugly and a plain t-shirt free from grass and dirt stains. In fact, he looked like he had just walked out of the shower, his beard just a tad trimmed, hair just a touch wet. It was Emma who was in dire need of a hose down.

"Seriously, you can just call me Emma." She assumed it was a force of habit for him to address the stepford wives that lived in this neighborhood by their formal name.

"Alright then, Emma," he said cautiously, his serious blue eyes catching hers. "Is this still a good time?"

She wished she had remembered this was happening and wasn't sweaty, gross and a mess from her run.

"Yeah, perfect actually." She stepped around him and toward the house, her shoulder accidentally grazing his arm, "do you mind if I just grab some water before we head back? Would you like some?"

"Sure," he said, a hint of a smile on his face but otherwise stoic. His posture was rigid and she wondered if she made him at all uncomfortable or if he was just inherently serious. "I'll just meet you around back then."

The backyard of Emma's new home was massive. But it was almost entirely empty save for the waterless in-ground pool that had been built. There wasn't even grass yet, the winter had been too cold and the construction team thought it best to wait until spring.

She sat on the shaded porch, the thick half-wall barrier that surrounded the space doubling as a bench for her because they didn't have deck furniture yet. She had her back leaned up against one of the white pillars that held up the structure, and watched Killian Jones. Emma wasn't notorious for checking out other men, she couldn't even remember the last time she had really looked at one in a less than appropriate way. But he was awfully handsome, she had to note that. Even the women at last night's party had agreed. He wasn't difficult to look at.

"Did you have anything in mind as far as plant life?" he asked her as he walked back over to the porch. In his hand he had a notepad and pencil, ready to jot down whatever she said next. The thing was, she had no idea what she wanted. "Your husband already sent me some requirements for the design but other than that-"

"Of course he did," she scoffed.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing it's just…" classic Neal to let her think she had the power but then micromanage the entire thing. "I've never…"

The truth would have been that she never wanted a yard. Nor a large house. None of this. But the watered down version of all of that was, "I've never given it much thought, actually."

He looked at her, his jaw unclenched. He stepped up onto the porch and took a seat across from her.

"Why don't you tell me about your favorite place," he said. The glove from his right hand coming off to hold the pencil.

"Excuse me?"

"Your favorite place. Do you have one?"

Emma leaned back again, crossing her arms over her chest. She had never been asked that question.

"For example," he said, probably sensing her hesitation. "Mine is a small cabin on the coast of Maine I stay in for a fishing trips. So when I bought a house here I wanted it to feel as much like that as possible. Inside and out."

It was personal. As she watched him finish talking she noted that he seemed surprised he said it as well. Her gaze shifted to the backyard. It really was a blank canvas for her. And while this was never something she had wanted control over, it was one of the few things at the moment that remained in her grasp.

"Well, my favorite place in the world would have to be the beach…" she said, partly deflecting. "But I don't really want my yard to look like a cheesy all-inclusive resort."

That got a slight laugh out of him, breaking what was his default concrete expression, but he quickly recovered.

"What I know is that I don't want it to be perfect. Or like, overly done," said Emma gesturing with her hands. Remembering what the mayor's backyard looked like and thinking she wanted the exact opposite of that.

"So perhaps something more natural to the landscape…" Killian started, his hand going to work at sketching something on the paper Emma couldn't see. "Nothing ostentatious…"

"Yeah, I don't want plants flown in from Thailand that bloom once a year or anything crazy complicated to care for. Everything has to be… local."

"Certainly." He continued sketching, his hand moving quicker now. His dark brows furrowed.

"Can you do that?"

To be honest Emma wasn't even entirely sure what kind of plants grew in the north east. She had never grown anything besides a few potted herbs she used for cooking that had lived on her apartment windowsill.

"Aye, love, I can." He finished writing with his pencil and looked up at her. "Anything you want. That's what I'm here for."

Emma ignored the small fluttering that occured in her chest when Killian looked at her. Anything she wanted. It was the simplest choice of words, unintentional on his part surely. But the tone in his voice, it struck a small nerve in Emma, a sensitive chord in her system that reminded her of when Neal had promised her anything.


	3. Chapter 3

**ATTN: Hi all! Back with another update (quicker than the last one) so I hope you're ready for chapter 3.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights to OUAT**

 **Word Count: ~6300**

Two days after Killian had first met with Emma Swan about her backyard he began his first phase of work there. It was early Wednesday, the sun was quite literally still rising, when he pulled his truck in front of the house. Another email from Neal Gold had given Killian a specific timeline of when he wanted to work to be done, and it really was not long at all.

Some sort of party was being thrown at the house in the end of May, giving him just under two months to frame the structure with the appropriate landscaping. For any other house, it would be a simple task. But it was during the height of his busiest season and the yard was quite large. So there was a good chance it may not get done in time.

That and he also had other motives for being there.

He unloaded his truck, slipping on his work gloves so no one would see the prosthetic that replaced his left hand. Killian felt himself being extra quiet as he unpacked, hoping that he wouldn't wake Emma and her resting husband. But just as Killian was heading to the backyard he noticed Neal Gold exiting the house, it was rather early to be headed to the office, he thought.

"Morning," Neal said, giving Killian a half-assed wave from the driveway.

"Morning," he said back. The man, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than Killian made in a month, got into his Range Rover and drove off.

As Neal drove out of sight Killian couldn't help but envy him a bit. Here he was, living in this massive house. Driving an expensive car. Set to be the heir of the largest construction company in the north east just because he was born. Sleeping in bed each night with a beautiful woman.

And, to Killian at least, it did not appear as though the man appreciated any of it. He certainly had not missed the way in which Emma regarded Neal's management of the project the other day. As much as he knew it was none of his business what she thought of Neal, he still found himself wondering.

He shook off his jealousy, it was entirely uncharacteristic of him to envy the kind of life he had seen so much of in his years in the business. It irked him that, for once, he was picturing being the person in the house. But, it did him no good to pout. Killian didn't have the luxury of an inheritance nor a wealthy family.

"Good morning," said a voice from behind. Killian jumped, not expecting anyone to be awake this early. He spun and saw that Emma Swan was standing on the empty back porch, holding a white mug of what he could only assume was coffee. "Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Hi there," he said with a smile. "It's quite alright, I just didn't think anyone would be awake this early."

Killian softened a bit, setting his handful of tools down. Despite the early hour, her face was wide awake. Her green eyes bright and her hair tied back off of her face. As she stepped down off of the porch and walked toward him, he tried not to get distracted by the way her clothes clung to her curves and instead focused on what he still needed to get from his truck.

"I'm a morning person," she said, pulling the mug to her lips with both hands. The rising sun caught the light of the diamond ring on her finger, serving as an ever present reminder that she was completely untouchable. For so many reasons. "I was just about to go for a run. Did you need any help with anything before I go?"

He looked at her quizzically and determined that she wasn't just offering to offer, she genuinely wanted to help. She was quite different than any of the women he had worked for in the past and he was starting to regret the shallow assumptions he had made about her at first glance. It was a force of habit, and people rarely surprised him in a good way.

"No thank you, love, I've got it covered," he replied.

"Alright," she said, gulping down the rest of her coffee until it was empty. Killian felt his eyes widen at how quickly she had drained the mug. "I'll be back in a bit."

With that she took off, headed toward the front street where he heard her chatting with someone else. Another woman it sounded like, and then soon their voices drifted away. With no more distractions he set to work.

Living in Maine meant warm summers and cold winters. This also meant that Killian did his best to select plants that could grow back after cooler temperatures, so that it wasn't like starting from the bottom each spring when the weather shifted.

In order to fulfill her wish of a natural looking landscape, Killian would have to get creative.

He had drawn on his sketch pad the layout of the yard. He had accounted for the essentials, factored in the property line. Since the entire back was a plot of dirt plus an empty pool, he had no trouble using a can of orange spray paint to outline where he would be putting things.

When Liam was alive, he had been able to talk to people. Quite easily, which was why everyone was so quick to hire him to work on their yards. Killian well, not so much. He could be charming when he wanted to be, especially with women, but he rarely wanted to be when it came to work. Especially when it was something he could lean on his brother for. Killian knew his strengths. He was the worker, the muscle, the perfectionist. And despite only having one hand, he executed things precisely. So well that none of the people who had hired him in the past fifteen years had a clue he was missing his left hand.

Killian was just about done with the front yard when he heard the chatter of voices behind him.

"Thanks for the run, Emma," said one woman. Whom he could assume to be Mary Margaret, Ruby's friend who lived across the street.

"Sure," replied Emma, her breath ragged presumably from the run. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah! Sounds good!" he heard her say back, before the sound of footsteps carried Mary Margaret away. And then his ears listened for the sound of Emma coming closer.

"Can I get you some water or anything?" she said when she was about halfway up the steps to the front door. He looked up at her from his work on the lawn and noted that she was covered in sweat like she had been the other day when he came to meet her. Killian wondered if she would get into the habit of leaving him alone at her house to go for runs.

"That's alright, I have some in the truck, and I'm just about done here."

"Are you sure?" she pressed. "It's pretty warm out, I for one am parched."

"That's because you've been running and I've been walking in circles," he joked.

"What's the spray paint for?"

"It's to outline where everything is going to go once the sprinkler system is in."

"Do you mind taking me on a tour?"

"Sure." He smiled, and she stepped off the porch. Close up, she was about a head shorter than him, and was thinly built but muscular. Her breath was still ragged but somehow it all worked in her favor.

The backyard wasn't much at this stage of things, so he found it hard to describe to Emma what everything would come together to look like. He felt himself more than a few times at a loss for words. But if she noticed she didn't say anything, just followed him around and politely waited for him to talk.

"I know I said I didn't want too many flowers…" she said after walking around the perimeter of the space. "But there was one thing I was wondering if there would be room for."

"What's that?" he said turning his head toward her.

"The rose bushes I saw at the mayor's house the other day, you did those right?"

"Aye." Killian nodded. The blasted things had given him migraine after migraine. To make sure they were to Cora Mills liking was a particular challenge that more than tested his patience.

"Well, it might not be so bad to have some of those here… maybe tucked away where the gazebo is going to be?"

As much as he hated putting them in and maintaining them across the street, when he looked at Emma's expectant face, he couldn't do anything but smile and nod.

"Absolutely," he said. "Whatever you want."

"I just thought that they were nice to look at…" she paused as if deciding whether or not to add the next part of her statement. "I wouldn't mind being able to have fresh roses in the house every once in a while."

"Then that's what you shall have," he said, making note of the change in his sketch. "I'll be in another neighborhood the rest of the week but I can bring by some floral samples from the greenhouse this weekend."

"Yeah, that'd be good," she smiled at him and shifted on her feet.

"I'll be doing some work next door for Granny Lucas on Saturday morning, I can come by then if you'll be home?"

She doesn't need your whole bloody schedule, Killian corrected himself.

"I'll be around," she said looking up at him. For a second their eyes lingered, before she broke the stare to walk toward the house. His eyes followed her as she walked up the steps, a confident stroll. Her hips swaying in a way they hadn't before, he was sure of that.

Killian had a feeling. A brief one, that just barely tugged on his conscious mind. Something that felt like he wanted to give Emma Swan whatever it was that she wanted.

On Friday night Killian plopped himself down on his usual stool at The Rose and the Thorn. After a long week of work he felt he had earned a cold drink. Robin poured him two fingers of rum on the rocks and Killian tossed it back immediately.

"Easy there, champ," said his best friend.

Killian rolled his eyes, ordering a beer. He wasn't planning on getting obliterated tonight as he normally did on the weekends. He had a full day tomorrow, part of his itinerary included a visit with Emma Swan. And while there was absolutely no concrete reason why he would need to be on his best behavior around her, he felt himself wanting to be anyway.

"A beer?" Ruby said entering the bar. Bringing over a crate of clean glasses to stack. On weekends she tended bar with Robin to make extra money. With her grandmother getting older, eventually all responsibility would fall onto Ruby financially. She had lost her parents at a young age as well, luckily for her, Granny had been around to raise her.

"Taking it slow tonight, Red," he said back, sipping on the frothy liquid.

"Any particular reason?" she poked.

"A lot of work tomorrow. So I'm trying to make a good decision," Killian said snarkily. Now it was Robin who rolled his eyes.

"I hear one of those tasks is making a special house call to bring rose samples over to my new neighbor," Ruby said leaning across the bar. Her elbows resting on the surface. She was looking at him funny, like she could see right through him.

"It is."

"Who's your new neighbor?" Robin chimed in.

"Gold's son… well and his wife," said Ruby still looking at Killian critically.

"He has a son?" Robin asked.

"Yes, he's just about our age," Ruby commented. "And his wife is…."

"She's nice," Killian cut her off, taking another sip. He did not want to get into it with these two.

"Oh I'm sure she's very nice to you," Robin smirked.

"Her husband is about to inherit one of the biggest construction businesses in the north east. Forgive me for wanting to stay on the good side of that family."

Even as the irritated words came out of his mouth, the irony in them was not lost.

"It also doesn't hurt that she's gorgeous," Ruby said backing up to resume her glass stacking.

"Ah the trophy wife type, very nice," joked Robin as he mixed drinks for a few young men at the end of the bar.

"No." Killian had immediately said, but realizing how suspicious that sounded he tried to back track. But somehow seemed to make this conversation worse. "She's uh, very much so her own person."

"Who are you and what have you done with Killian Jones?" Ruby asked incredulous to his response.

"Go easy on him, Red, maybe this is a sign he's finally growing up," said Robin.

"I just think she's lonely, alright?" Killian said.

It wasn't a lie. But he began to think that the reason he was drawn to her was because of the reflection of that loneliness he saw in himself.

"I won't disagree there, moving to Storybrooke was clearly not within her control," Ruby interjected. Finally. "Mary Margaret and I spent some time with her this week. Otherwise she would be all by herself in that big house all day. Her husband barely comes home."

"Sounds like the picture of idealism," Robin remarked. It was no secret that the three of them hated the suburbs.

"Besides, I don't think the mayor likes her very much," Ruby continued. Out of the corner of Killian's eye he caught Robin's hand freeze just the slightest at the mention of Regina Mills.

"What makes you say that?" Killian wondered.

"We all know she's not exactly a girl's girl…." Ruby alluded to the fact that as each one of the women moved to the street Regina had essentially frozen them out. Again Robin fumbled with the glass.

Killian remained quiet, knowing that Ruby was unintentionally treading on thin ice with this conversation. Between Killian and Robin there were two secrets that only the other knew. For him it was Milah, Robin had known at the time what kind of trouble she was in before she died. For Robin though, it was the mayor. The mayor who was now engaged to the chief of police.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" Ruby asked Killian, not noticing how Robin was just about to squirm.

"Eh… probably this, why?"

"Mary Margaret asked me and Granny over for dinner but Granny can't come because of her book club."

"Who is going to be there?" he asked, his eyebrow shooting up.

"Well obviously Mary Margaret and David, then you and I… Neal Gold and Emma…"

"I suppose I could escort you." It wasn't the first time Killian had filled in as Ruby's plus one to an event and it probably wouldn't be the last. "What time?"

"Around 7ish? Will you be done with work by then?"

"Yeah, Red, I'll be done by then."

Luckily a group of people walked into the bar in search of drinks which pulled Ruby's attention elsewhere. He would have to sit at a dinner table with Emma Swan and her husband. Should be interesting.

Among the group of people infiltrating the bar were a few women, one of whom was eyeing Killian. She was pretty, dark chocolate colored hair and romantic eyes. She was precisely his type.

He smiled politely at her before returning his attention to the half consumed beer and in front of him. On any other night he would have sent a drink her way, used it as an opening for a conversation. But he felt himself retreat and instead continue to nurse the drink in front of him, twisting the base of the glass on the black bar napkin.

It was a while before Robin came back over, the bar was full of people. It was a Friday night after all. The sound of chatter drowned out the music that played over the ancient speakers. Killian's one beer was almost entirely gone now as his friend set down a tumbler of amber liquid, ice clinking against its sides.

"This is from the lady at the end of the bar," Robin said. His head shifted toward the woman who had smiled at Killian earlier. He nodded in her direction before sipping down the strong liquid, ordering two more and sauntering over to her.

For as long as Milah had been gone, he had never had an issue with seeking out a random stranger in a bar and taking her to bed with him. Killian had done it time and time again in the five years she had been dead. Not once did he ever second guess the choice to cozy up to someone else also looking for company.

"I'm not a fan of being indebted to people," he said, handing her the drink. She smiled at him a tint of red hitting her cheeks.

"I don't usually do that…" she said, sipping the drink, her red lips wrapping around the straw. "But you just looked so lonely sitting there I had to."

"Ah, I see, so it was a pity drink?" he toyed, his eyebrow raising at her.

"Not entirely."

Her body leaned toward his in the crowded space. The smoke in the air filling his nose. Killian could be charming when he wanted to be.

But by his third round of drinks with the pretty brunette his mind wandered elsewhere. The deep fissures of his brain opening to reveal that his most pressing thought was that, if he was awake early enough, he would have more time to spend discussing roses with Emma Swan.

And for whatever reason, that seemed to be the most appealing task in the world.

Emma's first week in Storybrooke had been relatively pleasant given the circumstances. Her situation that she was trying desperately to make the best of, was playing out well. It was early Saturday morning when she heard the sound of an old truck pulling up in front of her house. Since the day was nice, Neal and his father had already left to play a round of golf with the mayor's fiance, Graham. It was interesting to Emma how all of these major roles in the town were filled by people who essentially lived on one street.

When Neal kissed her goodbye she was still in bed, tucked among the white linens.

"I'll be back in the evening, Em," Neal said as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be at the country club if you need me."

"Don't forget we have dinner at the Nolan's tonight."

"We do?"

"Yes. I told you last night before bed." A hint of irritation lingered in her tone. You probably weren't listening, she wanted to add but didn't. If she picked a fight each time something she said went in one ear and out the other she would never stop screaming.

As much as Emma was beginning to feel like she was perpetually being abandoned by Neal she didn't want to start an argument first thing in the morning. She swallowed her comment and made a mental note to call him later to remind him of their dinner with the new neighbors. God forbid the Nolans weren't the mayor or the chief of police or the superintendent of the schools or anything that could in some way self-serve Neal and his father. Emma glanced at the clock. It was already 8 am, so she instead focused on the fact that Killian would be here to pick out the roses for the backyard.

The day was a comfortable temperature, the blue sky above setting the tone for a nice morning. Emma's back porch was still bare, except for a stack of collapsed boxes from the move. She could hear the faint sound of birds and cars driving past. The sound of children running around because it was the weekend and no one had school. A crew of three men were working in her backyard to get the sprinkler system installed by Monday before the grass would go in. Two cups of coffee were steaming in white mugs next to Emma and the gardener. She was on her second cup, he had barely touched his.

"Now these are heritage roses, they're relatively sturdy and don't require a ton of upkeep," said Killian as they sat on her back porch comparing the several blooms he had brought over. "Baronne Prevost."

"They're what?" she said looking from the pink flower in her hand to him. She was clearly his first stop of the day, as his shirt was white and unstained. His gloves were clean. His pants were pressed. For a second her gaze lingered on his blue eyes. "I thought roses were just roses."

"That's the name of the type of rose, love," he said kindly. If he noticed her eyes ogling him a bit, he remained unreadable."They would grow on a bush abou in height and width."

"They're beautiful," Emma said focusing again on the flower. Attempting to shift her wandering mind.

"Aye, they are," he said coolly. "I would imagine they would look rather nice on a kitchen table."

"Huh?" she said.

"You had said the other day that you thought it would be nice to have fresh roses in the house… these will be ideal for that. They bloom several times per season."

Emma looked up at him again, knowing that it was his job to remember what she said she wanted, but still grateful that small tidbit stuck enough in his head. She felt her skin flush a bit, probably similar in color to the pink rose in her hand.

"Would you like to see some others then?" he asked.

"No, no I think these will be perfect."

"Well that was easy," he said, removing his right glove to write something down in his notepad he always carried with him. And maybe it was from not being able to see his left hand, or her current preoccupation with other people's lives, but she found herself wondering if there was a wedding band on his left hand.

"I like to think I'm decisive," she replied.

He had to be married. Or at the very least have some sort of serious partner. He had to, he was gorgeous.

"That's a nice quality in a client."

"Yeah, because it makes your job easier."

"That may be true," he said with a smirk. But neither of them stood up. A tension lingered in the air as neither said anything else for a few seconds.

"Emma!" called a voice from the yard. It was Mary Margaret.

"What's up?" said Emma standing from her spot on the deck. Peering over the bannister she could see her newest friend walking toward the porch. As she did, stepping out of whatever orbit she had just fallen into, a part of her felt like she had been caught with something.

"I just wanted to see what you wanted for dinner to-... oh! Hi Killian!" said the cheery woman as she rounded the bend and realized Emma wasn't alone.

"Hello, Mary Margaret," said Killian, rising as well to collect his things.

"I didn't realize you two were working on something, it's good that I have you both here," Mary Margaret said. "What would you prefer for dinner tonight, a roast or Italian?"

"You're going to be at dinner?" Emma looked at Killian who was now standing next to her.

"Aye, Ruby asked me to go in lieu of her grandmother."

"Oh," Emma looked away from him, realizing that of course he was dating someone like Ruby. And then internally scolding herself for even remotely minding that he would be there tonight with someone else. "I didn't know that."

"It's relatively last minute," he said quietly, almost like he was only saying it to her.

"Anything you make is fine with me," Emma said taking her eyes from Killian to Mary Margaret.

"Same here," said Killian.

And if anyone noticed how uncomfortable Emma had suddenly become, no one said a thing.

That evening, as Emma sat at the breakfast bar of her kitchen, she sipped a glass of Chardonnay she had poured herself. The tall stemware was a Christmas gift she had bought last year when she realized all of her wine glasses were mismatched souvenir cups.

If ten year old Emma could see twenty eight year old Emma, she could only imagine the conversation they would have. She had spent 18 years in the foster system, which meant living out of a backpack. Especially as she aged beyond the cute baby years and into her preteen years when it was a lost cause to be permanently adopted.

As she looked around her new house, she couldn't help but think about how this had been all she wanted growing up. The big two story entryway with the skylight. The dining room with a big, oak table to have Thanksgiving dinner. The all white kitchen, that had a breakfast nook and bay windows. The living room with big comfortable couches and artwork she had collected over the years.

Beyond all of that though, was the pressing fact that she had essentially assembled this home on her own. Every couch, every picture frame, every glass was there because she had put it there. When they had moved into their first apartment together, when she was 18, Neal had helped every step of the way. Sure, it had been a tiny studio apartment over a laundromat and most of its contents were from second hand stores but still. When they had nothing between the two of them he was there… but now, where was Neal?

Checking the watch on her wrist it was 6:50 and they were due to be at the Nolan's around 7. She was getting worried.

At 5 before Emma had hopped in the shower, she had called to remind him of the dinner. No answer.

At 5:30 when she was done drying her hair, she had called to remind him of the dinner. No answer.

At 6 when she was ironing a shirt for him in their walk in closet, she had called the country club to see if he was still there. The woman at the front desk had said he had left an hour ago.

At 6:30 when she put the finishing touches on her outfit, simple dark jeans and a cream colored sweater, her usual jewelry, her hair in loose curls she sent him a text. No answer.

The ticking watch on her wrist taunted her, clicking along, minutes going by. All the while hoping he would just call. At the very least, just call. She put up with a lot from him. But how hard was it to call?

Then at 7:05, just as Emma was about to smash the glass in her hand, he walked in the door.

"Em…?" she heard him call out from the foyer.

"In the kitchen," she said back, her voice an unmistakable monotone.

"Sorry I'm late, we went to dinner in town after the round," he said, kissing her forehead. What she smelled on him though was the thick stench of bourbon.

"Are you drunk?" Emma sat up in her seat, tugging away from his embrace.

"No." He stepped back, setting his clubs on the tile floor. The one thing he managed to unpack during the move. "Lighten up, Em. It's a Saturday."

"Yeah, well, we're late for dinner. The one that was actually planned," she said tightly getting up from her chair. She grabbed her red jacket and threw it over top of her sweater. If she went in on him right now, there would be no making it to dinner.

"We could just cancel."

"No."

"Can I have a few minutes to change?" he asked, treading lightly around her.

"That depends…." Emma crossed her arms. "If you go upstairs are you going to magically disappear for 9 hours?"

He gathered his things, pushing past her to walk upstairs. How did we get like this? She wondered while she waited. They hadn't always been this disconnected. There was a time when he was just about her everything, the only consistency she knew. More so now than ever she felt herself clutching to those memories. But when he started working for his father four years ago, that had all slowly started to change.

By 7:30 they had made their way across the street to the Nolan's, Emma apologizing profusely for their lateness. When she saw that Killian and Ruby had already arrived, she did just about anything to not be near the two together. So when Mary Margaret suggested a tour of the house, Emma jumped at the opportunity. The woman, being very proud of her home, took she and Neal through each room.

It was very different than their house across the street. The Nolan's were far more practical than they were. All of the floors a dark, sturdy wood that wouldn't show dirt. Eclectic, comfortable furniture. The rooms all open to one another so that everything flowed evenly. Pictures everywhere of David and Mary Margaret on trips, from their wedding, from college. Pieces of art made by her students and given as gifts. Books were scattered on just about every surface and candles were lit all around giving the house a warm glow and a lovely smell.

"When we have kids, I want to be able to see them in the backyard from the kitchen," said Mary Margaret as they finished the tour, looping through the back half of the house. The kitchen was where they ended, the soft brown and beige colors of the counters and cabinets making it feel so homey.

"But for now her being able to watch the dogs is sufficient," David joked as he handed Emma and Neal glasses of wine. He was the local veterinarian, and according to Mary Margaret, brought home more animals than money. At the moment there were two dogs in the house plus a cat. Which made it feel even more inviting.

"We built this house knowing we wanted a big family… I just didn't imagine being outnumbered by the animals," said Mary Margaret. She was the quintessential elementary school teacher. With her sing-song voice, kind face and patient temperament.

"I like to bring my work home," David said bringing his wife into his embrace. The two leaned against the back cabinets and smiled.

"It's a good thing I don't, we'd have twenty two 8 year olds running around."

Everyone laughed at that, and suddenly it felt a bit more easy to be here. The Nolans were at glance the ideal young couple. But aside from that they were just nice people, and Emma liked that. They were certainly not the worst neighbors she could have.

The dining room off of the kitchen held a modest wood table, filled with different steaming pots of food.

"I hope you don't mind, I went a little overboard," said Mary Margaret as they all sat down at their seats. Each place setting with a handwritten, elegant tag.

"Wow you guys are like real adults," Ruby said as they sat at their assigned seats. David and Mary Margaret at either head. Then in the middle sat Ruby and Killian to the left, Emma and Neal to the right. If her fiance, at all, had a chip on his shoulder about having dinner with the man who was his landscaper he didn't acknowledge it. Instead he was the opposite of what Emma had predicted he would be.

"Everything looks great," Neal said. He had suddenly become Prince Charming now that they were in front of people.

"How are you two enjoying Storybrooke?" Ruby asked once everyone had begun eating. The light lull of conversation carrying through. Emma looked at her sitting next to Killian and decided that they made an attractive couple. What with their dark hair, angular faces and big eyes. Though hers were green and his were the same striking blue that kept catching her attention from across the table. Something she was probably imagining.

"Well, I enjoy it here, it's where I grew up," Neal chimed in. "So it's always been home to me."

"I guess I'm just a bit harder to please," Emma said, hoping that she hid the bitterness in her tone.

"Where did you grow up, Emma?" the well-meaning David asked.

"Foster care," she said back matter of factly. The quiet that filled the dining room was somehow still deafening. No one ever knew how to respond to that, which meant Emma was always able to recover from the statement quickly. "So living in a place like this is a dream come true for me."

She grabbed Neal's hand that rested on the table, and everyone seemed to simultaneously breath. People loved a happy ending, especially one where the baby left in a basket on the side of the road ended up living the American dream. Outwardly at least. It was a story people were relieved by, just like right now at the dinner table. Except that when Emma's gaze drifted to Killian she realized he was the only one able to look her in the eyes. And she was most definitely not imagining it.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. Neal somehow recovered from his drunken day on the golf course and charmed the pants off of the new neighbors. Telling stories and commanding the room. While glass after glass of wine was poured. All the while Emma sat back and watched him dance. He knew he was in deep with her. She would give him that credit, he always worked overtime to make things up to her.

"Excuse me for a moment," Emma said, while everyone was gathered in the kitchen, distracted listening to a story about Neal's round of golf with the police chief today. Something about a gofer… she didn't really care. All she knew was she needed some air.

"Oh… sorry, I didn't realize you had come out here," Emma said when she noticed Killian leaned against the pillar of the front porch.

"No, it's okay, I should get back in there anyway." He slid his phone back into his pocket, he had excused himself a bit ago to take a call.

Emma could still hear the the conversation going on inside and promptly closed the door behind her.

"Some fresh air, love?" he asked with a half smile, the porch was dim but she could still make out the angles of his face.

"Yeah. The room was a bit… loud for me in there."

"He's quite the talker that one," Killian said, and that made Emma smile. That she wasn't the only one who was tired of having one person take up all the oxygen in the room.

"Yes, he is," she said. She knew she should go back in. But for whatever reason Emma just didn't want to. Instead she plopped herself down on one of the rocking chairs near the door.

The two of them were quiet for a few moments, only listening to the sounds of the neighborhood. Kids getting called in for the night, a car or two driving past, the light breeze that made her curl her arms around herself. The silence wasn't uncomfortable though, it was like an unspoken understanding. She watched him a bit as his back was turned to her. He wore a pair of jeans and a long sleeve navy blue sweater, it was the first time she saw him in anything other than his gardening attire. Then her eyes shifted to the front of her new home.

It was utterly still, the house, massive but stale looking. True no one was home but it was hard to make the comparison between their house and Mary Margaret's. Mary Margaret's was designed to be a home, Emma's was designed to be a statement piece.

"My brother raised me," he said finally and Emma turned to where he was leaned against one of the railings, but he was looking out toward the street. She could just barely make out the profile of his face. The tightness to his jaw.

Emma stayed quiet, surveying what his goal was by saying this to her.

"I lost both parents very young. But he was old enough to be my guardian."

"You were lucky to have him."

"Aye."

As Emma looked toward Killian, she noted his body language. His facial expression. And deciffered that his past was not something he tended to share a lot. She didn't press him though, he wasn't telling her so they could have a long discussion of their respective parental abandonment. But knowing about it did make her feel like less of an idiot for blurting out her past at the dinner table.

"There you are," said Ruby as the front door opened. Her green eyes looked toward Emma who was sitting in the rocking chair still. Turning to Killian she said, "I need to get back, I have an early morning tomorrow at Granny's."

"I'll walk you home then," Killian quickly offered.

The others came out onto the porch through the wide open front door. David, Mary Margaret and Neal filling the space. A mix of goodbyes and thank yous were exchanged between the six people as they all went their separate ways. Emma's eyes shifted toward her neighbor's house as she and Neal walked back. While she promised herself it was just to ensure Ruby got into her house okay, she knew deep down there was something else she was watching for.

And when Killian said goodnight to Ruby without anything more than a hug; an unwarranted, undeserved sigh of relief filled her body.


	4. Chapter 4

**ATTN:** **A special thanks to my beta resident_of_storybrooke who is an actual angel and also to shady-swan-jones for the incredible artwork.**

 **Another update just in time for the weekend (and the series finale), but while one door closes I'm happy to continue writing and creating using these characters who have inspired me so much.**

 **That being said, I hope you enjoyed reading. Thank you for stopping by, I love getting feedback or kudos or just greetings are fun! Hope everyone has a nice weekend :)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights to OUAT**

The dinner at the Nolan's had been a welcome distraction from what Emma was dealing with in her own house. That much was evident the second their front door closed and the lingering silence between she and Neal filled the house with tension so thick it could practically be cut.

Whatever front they had put on in public, had quickly faded.

Emma stomped her way up the steps to the master bedroom and waited to hear Neal's footsteps behind her.

The walk in closet off of their room was almost the size of their first studio apartment in Boston. It was hard to believe they had gone from living in less than 400 square feet to where they were now. But Emma would do just about anything to get back to when they had been too madly in love to care that the heat hardly worked. Or that the dated floral wallpaper was peeling. Or that the entire apartment always smelled like the Chinese restaurant in the building next door.

"Emma..." he said when he finally came upstairs to their room. Emma was already in the closet, changing from her clothes. "I went to the dinner, everyone had a nice time…"

"Please. I just want to go to bed." She went back to pulling her silk pajamas from a drawer in the white cabinets of the closet system. An additive that Neal had insisted be put in the house.

"I was late getting home, it isn't the end of the world," he said tersely. Entering the closet but staying in the doorway. He knew enough to give her space at least.

"It's more than that, Neal."

"Then what is it? Tell me, because I can't read your damn mind, Emma."

"You haven't been here this week! We moved here because of you and so far all you've done is come home late if at all."

"My job is not 9 to 5, you know that. You knew that before we moved here. Don't act like this is some surprise."

"I thought that moving here it might be different. I guess I was wrong."

"What exactly did you think would be different? We moved here for my career. My legacy, my father's business. You knew that, you knew what my father was like."

Emma felt stupid, each day that she went along it got harder until she had constantly felt herself wondering why she was tagging along with someone who clearly did not care for her as he used to. In hopes that he would again become the person she had fallen in love with.

"Where do you even go half of the time? You're never here. You come home late, you smell like booze constantly..."

"Forgive me for working to try to provide a nice life for you." Under his breath she heard him add, "I would think you would be grateful."

"Excuse me?" she snapped. All attentions now on him, not the clothes. "Oh, that's right because I grew up without a home I'm supposed to crawl on my knees over glass to thank you for all of this?"

Judging from his face she could tell that was exactly what he wanted her to do, which only served to anger her more.

"I should be grateful for what, exactly? Moving away from everything I've ever known? Spending day in and out alone in this house? Aside from tonight when was the last time we had a meal together? When was the last time we had sex?"

His jaw clenched, and she debated whether or not to say the next part. Emma stepped toward him, her eyes locked with his. Frustration filling her body.

"If I wanted to marry your father I would have." She pushed past him and walked into the bedroom.

"Everything I do is for you, Emma, for us! Why can't you see that?"

"No it's not." She stared out the bay window before shutting the white curtains. Everything he did was for himself. "Is there someone else?"

She knew the answer, had for a while, but still she asked.

"No," he said, sounding defeated. He wouldn't meet her eyes and Emma felt herself begin to tear up. "You're being ridiculous."

She said nothing, just stared at him.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" he said with ice in his voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about," he said, only a few inches from her now. "What would you do, if I snuck out of a dinner to sit on a stoop with another woman?"

"Oh for god sakes, Neal, you're the one who hired him."

"Don't make an ass out of me for doing it," he said. Emma's eyes widened. He had done it to test her. She was sure of that now. Bring in an attractive gardener to spend time with your lonely wife. Emma's blood boiled, she couldn't even look at him anymore.

Killian Jones had been a trap, one that she was falling right into. Emma walked away, not wanting to continue to argue with him. It was exhausting.

Down the hall in one of the guest bedrooms she pulled down the made up bed, and crawled underneath. The house had several spare bedrooms, this one was the furthest from the master. Emma had tried to decorate simply, using white linens and gray furniture.

The moon hung high in the sky and cast light into the windows of the guest room. Emma stared out them and into the clear night, the stars were visible from her new home. That much she liked. What she didn't like was the irony of her being in the guest room of her own house.

There weren't many emotions in this world that Emma Swan liked. One of the few things she had control over in her life, and as she grew up, was that of her response to circumstances. Because while there was only so much she could do for her situation, her approach was what she knew she could control. So for a long time, Emma had been in as much control as she could have been.

But then when she was 17 years old, she met Neal. At a bar she had used a fake ID to get into with another guy she had been dating. The day she met Neal was also the day she left behind all she knew before. He swept her off of her feet. She left that bar with him and never looked back.

Neal took her interesting places on dates. He had a car, a run down probably stolen yellow bug that had since been retired. In all of the chaos that was being young and in love he was her stability. And she was his. He had just been cut off financially from his father, the older Mr Gold thinking it would have his son crawling back to work for him. Unfortunately, he had been right. Five years later, after graduating from Boston University, Neal had begun working for his father.

Emma settled into the covers. She breathed in the scent of the lavender fabric softener on the sheets, remembering the time not so long ago when Neal had been her wings. Now, though, he was more like cement shoes.

In the morning Emma woke late. Her watch read that it was 10 am, she had forgotten to set an alarm. Next to her phone and watch though on the nightstand sat a singular Hershey kiss. The tiny piece of chocolate wrapped in its signature foil packaging.

Their relationship was wrought with miscommunication. It always had been. They were both stubborn and shut down from other people. But he had been the person she knew longest. And with that came the responsibility of knowing what pushes the other's buttons. She knew Neal's, and he knew hers.

Another thing, though, was that they knew how to apologize to each other.

Emma picked up the tiny chocolate candy and held it in her hand knowing their history with it. Neither one of them had an easy time apologizing to each other but this had always been their way. It was the way he had proposed to her. It was the way he broke the news to her that he had to move. It was the way she apologized for leaving when he had initially told her.

Her heart fluttered a bit, it was the first glimpse of her Neal she had seen in months. And he wasn't moving mountains, but it was a sign. A sign that he was still the person that had swept her off her feet 10 years ago.

"I didn't know what time you would be up." Emma looked up at the doorway and there stood Neal, holding two steaming cups of coffee.

"My alarm didn't go off this morning," she said carefully, taking one of the mugs from him as he sat down on the bed. "I'm surprised you're here."

"Em… I didn't like how we went to bed last night."

"Me either," she said staring down at the steam coming from her mug. She caught a whiff of something, the barest hint of cinnamon. Her favorite.

"I'm sorry," he said, his leg touching hers. Finally she looked up to meet his eyes. "For how I have behaved and treated you."

Emma remained quiet, as she finally watched something formulate behind his eyes.

"And you're right, I am acting like my father. But you don't deserve that." He took her hand in his and felt the ring he had given her months ago. "Which is why I think we should actually get married…. For real this time."

"What?" she said back, she definitely wasn't expecting him to say that.

"I know we only did this to appease my dad but maybe we could really marry each other, have a ceremony in our new house…."

Emma was so stunned she could hardly move. She just stared at Neal. Dealing with the whirlwind of emotions that had gone on between them in the past 12 hours.

"Neal…. I…" she stuttered. "We decided we didn't want to get married."

"We made that decision when we were 18, Emma, things change," he said calmly. "It's just something to consider."

"Won't your dad be pissed when he realizes we didn't actually get married before moving here?"

"He doesn't have to know… he thinks we eloped so we can just tell him we wanted a real wedding."

Neal stood up from the bed, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. He drained his coffee and started to leave the room before turning around to face her in the doorway, "I'm gonna start putting together all of that exercise equipment still in the boxes."

Emma smiled, it was forced but she still appreciated that she didn't wake up in an empty home this morning.

"Thanks for getting all of that by the way," Emma said. "You didn't have to do that."

"Just because we had to move here for my career doesn't mean you have to abandon yours," he said. "Plus I liked to watch you on the stairmaster."

He winked at her and instead of blushing Emma felt unsettled. She didn't like whatever feeling hit her as Neal left the room.

When they first started dating, Emma had no family and Neal was cut off from his father. So envisioning a big, white wedding was beyond either of their imaginations. That was what they had agreed upon for most of their relationship. But then as they got closer to moving to Storybrooke, the more Neal started talking about them actually getting married.

"It's a more traditional neighborhood, Em, we should think about getting married," he had said. Which was, as one can imagine, not the way every little girl imagines herself getting proposed to.

"You make it sound like a business transaction," she said back and then they didn't speak of it again. Until one morning in their old apartment when Emma woke up to a diamond ring resting on top of a Hershey kiss on the pillow next to her.

"We don't have to actually do it, but at the very least we can pretend," he had said. Emma still remembered that morning, the sound of an ambulance driving by outside the window. "Just like the good old days."

Back when they first started dating, they went on road trips all of the time. The problem was, they were both too poor to afford anything but the gas and had to shoplift at convenience stores all along the east coast.

They would be fake married, fake pregnant, fake fighting. It was a game. Their game. She considered him as he slipped the ring on her left hand. It wouldn't be so bad, she supposed.

"I'll wear one too, Em." He kissed her wrist and they made love that morning. Too caught up in the idea of another one of their games to recognize that they were older now and there were consequences to their rouses.

She remembered everything about that morning all those months ago. The Boston t-shirt she always wore from Neal, the sound of an ambulance driving by their apartment window. The weather was rainy and gloomy but it made their tiny bedroom cozy.

But now, sitting in their new house, surrounded by Pottery Barn furniture everything was so quiet. And Emma's mind tried to grab onto something meaningful to remember this particular morning. A sound. A smell. A feeling. But she couldn't.

Emma was in the office off of the kitchen later that morning. The built in shelves took up the entire wall behind the desk and were filled with books she had collected from thrift stores over the years. Plants were used as bookends. A tiny window gave a glimpse of the front street. It was cozy, and though Neal rarely worked from home he still insisted on a home office. She sipped her coffee and scrolled through page after page of porch furniture. It was the one part of home decorating she had avoided. Mostly because she had no idea what the backyard would look like yet.

An email came up in the bottom right hand corner, signifying that Neal had an incoming message. Emma's gut told her not to look, not to snoop. She was never that girl who went searching through phones and emails and calls. She liked to think she trusted people in her life. Nowadays though she wasn't so sure. It seemed more and more like Emma was always on the defense with Neal. And even this morning, when he had been so sweet, it felt like a bandaid.

Against her better judgement she opened the email, and luckily it was only from Target telling him about a sale going on this week. Emma released a breath. Paranoia was not her favorite feeling. But a few messages down in Neal's inbox she saw a chain of messages from none other than Killian Jones. Curiosity getting the better of her yet again.

Just as she suspected it was message after message of Neal micromanaging the entirety of the project he had given her 'free reign' of. All the while Killian Jones being completely receptive. Of course he was, he was a nice guy. Or what she had seen of him at least, and she liked to think that she had some ability to judge character.

Her eye caught on the sight of a message from Neal where he stated the yard would need to be done by the end of May. For some sort of party.

Interesting. He hadn't mentioned anything to her about a party. One would think….

Unless it was to be some sort of wedding ceremony. Some surprise gesture to get her to marry him. Emma's breath caught in her throat, she didn't know if she was being ridiculous or realistic in assuming that him asking this morning was only a formality. Why else would he throw a party without telling her? It wasn't either of their birthdays, no one they knew either.

It was certainly plausible.

A knock on the door pulled her out of her racing head. Quickly Emma closed the email and went to the door. Just what she needed right now, a fucking visitor.

When she opened the door she found Mary Margaret standing on the other side holding two to-go cups of coffee and a small paper bag.

"Hi," Emma said a little startled.

"Hi, I come bearing coffee," said Mary Margaret in her sweet voice.

"Come in, please," Emma ushered. Out of the corner of her eye though she caught sight of Killian Jones unloading his truck at the Mills house. She would ask him tomorrow if he knew anything about the party, no need to bother him right now.

Emma and Mary Margaret made their way to the kitchen table. The nook was surrounded by windows that allowed for a view into the backyard, which would be lovely someday but right now was just a big project and some dirt.

Sipping coffee there was a silence over them for a few minutes. Mary Margaret looked like she had an agenda for being here, especially since she hadn't called ahead. But she still came across sweet to Emma, almost like a mother in the way that she acted toward people. Most likely that came from her being a teacher. Even still, it made Emma want to trust her, and it made her want to be around the woman more often.

"I hope you had a nice time last night, I know David and I did," she finally said, setting down her coffee cup and leaning back in the chair. She wore a soft yellow sweater and white pants. Compare that to Emma who was still in her pajamas, she felt like a bum.

"I did, it was lovely," saind Emma. "We used to live in an apartment building so there weren't too many dinner parties going on there. It's nice to have neighbors we can spend time with."

"That's one of the best parts about living here, the neighbors are almost like family."

Emma went to chime in and say she had never really had a family before, but decided against it. She felt bad enough about bringing up her past at the table last night. The last thing she wanted was for Mary Margaret to feel uncomfortable around her.

"I didn't mean it that… I don't want to offend you, of course it's not the same thing as a fam…" the pixie haired woman stumbled over her words. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable talking about your upbringing with me."

Emma sipped her coffee, giving the woman time to find her words.

"What I meant to say was that I want us to be friends."

"Friends?" Emma asked.

"I feel like I'm really not getting this right.." Mary Margaret joked. "I like spending time with you. It's nice to have someone new around. And when I moved to this street there wasn't exactly a welcome wagon."

"Other than you and Ruby this place seems like a tough crowd." Emma thought back to her only encounter with the Mayor at her garden party. How cold and icy she was, but had a hard time picturing anyone being nasty to the woman sitting across from her right now.

"There's a lot of history here, in Storybrooke. Some families have lived here for years, so there's a lot of overlap."

"Well, I enjoy being around you as well. Especially if you're gonna bring me coffee and croissants every time you come over."

They both laughed at that and the nervous tension in the room eased. Emma liked Mary Margaret, she was a kind person. And the world could use more people like her. People who were just nice. Besides that, it would be great to actually form a friendship with someone. All her life Emma had been strong in so many ways, but friends was not one of them.

Sunday morning Killian awoke alone in his bed. His head was already reeling from the night before. The dinner party at the Nolan's had been fine as far as cordial events go, but there was something that picked at him about it. The memory of sitting on that front porch with Emma as he blurted out about his dead brother was so out of character for him it was downright terrifying.

So rarely did he share anything about Liam with anyone new. Obviously his friends had known, they had been around when it happened. But Emma didn't ask for the sordid tales of his past, but she did seem lonely.

Killian pulled himself out of bed and ran his hands through his hair. According to the clock it was 7 am, he had some time before he had to be at the Mills' house. He was building a new shed for them and finally had all of the clearances to do it. Something that was odd for the Mills house, normally when it came to approval from the HOA the process moved rather quickly.

He quickly showered but when he got out realized he didn't have any towels.

Thankfully he lived alone, he thought, as he dripped down the hallway to his linen closet where the spare towels were. But when he pulled out the towel something hit his hand, it was gooey and felt like some sort of gel.

"What in the….?" he spat out looking at his hand. The gooey mystery substance coating his right hand. He reached way back, in the depths of the shelving to find an overturned bottle.

It was a bottle of shampoo, well past its prime, that had fallen between the cracks. Not just any shampoo though, what he could smell of it was what Milah had washed her hair with. He closed his eyes and let himself picture what mornings used to be like when she was still alive.

The smell of her dark, curly hair pressed against his nose. The feel of her soft body tucked into his. The way she would pull him closer when it was cold outside. On a morning like today, when he hadn't shaved for a few days, she would complain about the tickle of his jaw.

Anytime he thought of her though, inevitably his mind would wander to the last time he had seen her. The morning after she had died, he hadn't even been with her when she had taken her last breath. His last memory of her was the sight of her laid out on a metal table, under a blue cloth, making a confirmation to the detective that she was indeed who her ID said she was.

But the person he saw in that room wasn't the woman he had fallen in love with, she was a shell of herself on that table. An empty version of Milah. The side of her that was an addict had won out in the end.

Who knew an old shampoo bottle could send him on such a tailspin?

Later that day he was working at the Mills house, distracting himself from the morning. The framework for the shed had been built, and was coming along nicely. That was the thing with Killian, no matter what went on day to day, work could take his mind away from anything.

"Hi Mr. Jones," came a young voice from across the yard. Killian looked up from his work to see Henry Mills walking toward him. They 8 year old son.

"Hi Henry," he said back smiling. While Killian wasn't used to being around kids, most of his friends didn't have them, Henry was a good kid. "I've told you before you can just call me Killian."

"My mom says I shouldn't call grownups by their first name," he said back, kicking a stone with his shoe.

"Well I may be older than you but I'm far from a grownup." Killian smiled at Henry, who was young but always seemed to have a maturity about him. It was probably because, in most scenarios, he was the only kid around. He was an only child, and there weren't a ton of other kids on the street to play with. "You can help if you would like."

"Really?" the kid's face lit up. As much as Killian should probably just work alone, Henry was always helpful and he couldn't spend another afternoon watching the 8 year old play alone on his swing set.

As they set to work Killian found Henry to be quite helpful. He sorted screws and nuts and bolts. He held things in place, he acted as an extra set of hands. They worked like that for a while.

"Henry, what did I tell you about bothering Mr. Jones while he works?"

Cora Mills was standing not 10 feet from them and he had hardly heard her coming. In her hands was a silver tray with some glasses and a pitcher of ice water. She was an older version of the mayor. Wearing sensible, tailored pants and a white linen shirt. Her long dark hair was tied up and her lips were painted a bright red. It was awfully formal for a Sunday afternoon at home, but that was the Mills family. They ran the town, and they knew it.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Mills," Killian said standing from his hunched over position. "Henry was just helping out for a little while, he's never a bother."

"That's kind of you," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Henry, your mother has lunch on the table inside."

The kid shot up and ran toward the house, waving a quick goodbye to Killian. The young lad had so much energy, Killian felt like it would be a cold day in hell before he could run toward that house right now after working all morning and afternoon.

"You're very kind to be so patient with him," Cora said, bringing his attention back to her.

But he didn't like the way she looked at him, he never did. It was part of his job though, and being that the Mills family were responsible for his brother being so successful he just smiled and endured it.

Monday morning, Killian felt a weird churning in his stomach. He wasn't inherently a nervous person, but as he made his way to Neal Gold's house that was exactly what he was feeling.

"You're awfully quiet this morning," said Will as they were working in the backyard. The morning had gone off without a hitch but Killian couldn't help but notice Emma didn't come out to say hello.

Perhaps he had gone too far by telling her about his brother, perhaps her husband felt uncomfortable with her being alone with him. Whatever it was, he noticed her absence.

"I mean, you're always a bit grouchy but we've been here for a few hours and you haven't said more than two words," Will continued. He was one of Killian's oldest friends. They had met in elementary school, coming from similar toxic family situations.

"I'm not feeling particularly chatty today."

"Yes because you're usually such a talkative person."

"I'm here to work I'm not here to doddle," said Killian with a hint of irritation in his voice as he continued to dig out places for the posts of the fence. A wood fence that will eventually be covered in natural looking vines, but it was easier to focus on that then his bad mood.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, it was only 11 am and already very warm. If only that pool in the middle of the lawn was full he would jump in right now to cool off. By the end of the week the plumbing for the sprinkler system would be done.

"You know, some people would find your silence off putting," Will continued to jab at him. "But I love a challenge."

"You are intolerable."

"Then fire me!" he teased. Killian at least cracked a smile at that. He worked alone a decent amount, he felt he was more efficient that way. But it was nice to have company every once in a while. However annoying Will was, he was still company. And he was one of the people who dragged him back to work after losing Liam. For that he would forever be grateful.

"I think there's someone who wants to talk to you…." he heard Will say as he picked up his head. Walking toward them was Emma Swan, long blonde hair free and flowing. She wasn't in her usual workout gear and ponytail. It looked like she was on her way to something. The purse that hung on her shoulder, he recognized as one he had bought for Milah for Christmas one year. The difference was, the one Milah had was a fake version and Emma's appeared to be real. A several thousand dollar bag, hanging from her shoulder like it was nothing. That was the kind of life she was used to.

"Killian, can I talk to you for a minute?" her voice sounded in his ears as she looked right at him. He tried to read her expression but her sunglasses masked her most telling feature. Her eyes. Apparently he had frozen in his spot because he felt the gentle nudge of Will on his shoulder.

"Sure," he said a little too quickly. With the back of his glove he wiped his forehead again before following her toward the porch. When he turned back to look at Will his friend's eyebrows were raised in such a way that he thought perhaps he now knew why Killian had been so quiet.

Emma led him up the stairs of the back porch and just when he thought she was going to stop there, she opened the french doors and led him inside her house.

The cool air hit him as he stepped inside. Immediately he was conscious of the dirt on his boots that were tracking on the wood floor.

"It's alright, just leave them on," she said as if reading his mind.

He took in the surroundings. After many years of working in these neighborhoods, this was the first time he had ever been invited inside. It was just as massive as it looked on the outside. The french doors from the porch led into the space of a large living room, off of that was a sleek white kitchen. But in all of its grandeur, amongst all of the artwork and books, there were absolutely no pictures.

"Would you like a glass of water?" she offered from behind the kitchen island. Emma had taken her sunglasses off and set them next to her bag on the counter. He searched her bright green eyes, but if Killian was being honest they appeared to be a bit foggy. Had she been crying?

He could only assume she was going to tell him off for following her out to the porch at the Nolan's on Saturday night.

"Sure, that would be great," he said, removing his disgusting work boots and leaving them by the door. It felt like a crime to wear them in her pristine home. Dragging mud through her seemingly pristine life.

Killian walked over to where Emma stood in the kitchen and reached across the island to grab the glass of water from her. He kept his distance though, this was her home, and god forbid her husband walk in to find the two of them alone in the house together. Killian would never work again.

"Yesterday I was in Neal's office and stumbled upon something," she turned and went through one of the doors off of the kitchen. He didn't know what to do so he just watched as she quickly returned from what he assumed was Neal Gold's home office. Making a mental note of where it was he looked at the piece of paper in her hand.

"What do you know about this event we're having at the house at the end of May?" she asked, catching him off guard.

"It was mentioned just in terms of the timeline," he said back. "Nothing else was told to me about it."

Emma sighed, setting down the sheet of paper that had the chain of emails between Killian and Neal about the yard. Whatever kind of marriage the two of them had, it clearly was not a very strong one if she had to ask him about an event her husband was planning.

"Me either," she admitted as she crossed her arms over her chest. The ring on her finger catching his eye. "I don't like surprises."

"Maybe it's some sort of birthday party…. Or anniversary….?" he offered, wondering why she was so concerned about it and also why Killian was the only one she was able to consult. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, love."

"It's alright, I just thought maybe he told you."

He surveyed her again, noting how uncomfortable all of this made her. It was why she had dragged him inside, the idea of not knowing something as simple as a party your husband was planning… well that was probably irritating to her. Perhaps her life wasn't as pristine as they led the world to believe. In the space of only a week Killian had noticed that. It wasn't up to him to comfort her, that wasn't in his job description as the town's local gardener. But he felt himself wanting to do it anyway.

"Look, Emma…" It felt odd calling her by her first name, but the way she looked at him told her she was listening. "I'm sure it's just a surprise he's throwing together. And that whatever it is will be lovely."

Her green eyes were rather striking to him, as there was something behind them that made him very wary. Fear.

"If he gives any indication as to what it is you will be the first person I tell," he said scrambling for anything to just wipe away that look of fear on her face. There was so much more to this than a mystery party but right now it was all he had to offer her. "I promise."

As if all at once she realized just how inappropriate it was for him to be in this kitchen with her right now alone, she snapped out of whatever haze she had been in.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "I didn't mean to keep you from your work I just… I didn't want to talk about this in front of…"

"Other people." He finished for her. Quickly dismissing himself back to the yard where he belonged. But as he worked the rest of the day he couldn't help but wonder what on earth Emma Swan was so afraid of.


	5. Chapter 5

_ATTN:_ _So... it has been a long time since I updated this story. And I could list all of the reasons why, but I won't. Instead I will leave this chapter here and promise to do my best to get on a regular schedule with it again._

 _Writing has always been and will always be a passion of mine, but it's easy for me to let day to day life get in the way of that. I hope you will continue to read and enjoy what I put out in this story (and others in the future) and I am forever grateful for all of the support._

 _The next chapter will not take so long to be posted, that much I can guarantee, so stay tuned and let me know what you think!_

 _Thank you :)_

For as long as Killian could remember he loved being on the water. It didn't matter if he was in a canoe, a speedboat, or just swimming around he was at ease. He and Liam used to spend as many weekends as they could, off fishing in their favorite spot. A lake not far from Storybrooke that they had gone to as children. It was the only example of a vacation they had ever known. Their family never had much, so anywhere that required planes or trains was out of the question.

The day he had told Emma about the cabin, and how it had been the inspiration for what his current home looked like, was the first time he had ever said that sentence out loud. Making it all the more real.

All of that changed seven years ago. His comfort on the water completely disintegrated when Killian lost his brother. Liam's death altered the entire course of his life and even now, standing near the small creek behind his house, he felt the crippling anxiety of being near water. Which was why it was surprising to him that he had even uttered the words aloud to her. To Emma.

It was Saturday morning, and the day was crisp. Overcast. Chilly. The warm April weather had shifted quickly, as it sometimes did in the northeast. So today he wore Liam's old Storybrooke High sweatshirt. It was ripped and threadbare but it kept Killian warm. And his family didn't exactly have heirlooms to pass down, so he kept their memory alive in little ways that he could.

An old tree sat, tall and gangly near the creek where his old fishing boat rested in the grass.

Old was an understatement, as the small boat looked as if it hadn't been used in thirty years. Grass growing around it, like an ornate lawn sculpture that was intentionally planted there to make it look rustic.

From the creek he looked up at his modest home and compared it to the cottage he had once loved so much. The pitched roof. The simple stonework that made up the walls. The modest back porch with two rocking chairs where he used to sit every morning. The green shutters, where the paint was now peeling. He would have to redo those eventually. But it hardly seemed worth it. He had no neighbors and never any guests.

It was interesting to him how he spent his days making the outside of other people's homes so lovely while his appeared to be falling into disrepair.

What he should do was sell the house. Between losing Liam and Milah, there was too much history. Too many ghosts lingering in the floorboards. And all of it was painful. At least the most recent ones were. It was why he hid in the apartment above Robin's bar for so long, and why he went back there on weekends when he needed to not feel so alone. The one room, impersonal space with a stranger was about all he could bear.

A gentle breeze rustled the trees around him. His house was surrounded by foliage that had been there for years. And at one point he found it to be peaceful on a Saturday morning like this, when there was a chilly breeze bringing it all alive. But today all he felt was morose.

His phone rang, bringing his attention away from his general bad mood. The caller ID told him it was Will… and that the time was already almost 9 am. Bloody hell. He was going to be late.

"Top of the morning," Will said on the other end. "Can I expect to see you at any point today or should I tell your friend you aren't coming?"

"My friend.. What… who?" Killian was startled by the question. His friend couldn't possibly mean….

"Mrs. Gold."

Her last name is Swan, Killian thought to himself, but chose not to correct Will over the phone. The last thing he wanted to hear was the relentless teasing about Emma Swan. Who he found himself thinking of a lot, especially when he shouldn't be.

"The pallet of bricks arrived at her house this morning and are good to be laid for next week, but she hates them…" said Will. "I told her you had said her husband already gave specific instructions about the brickwork…"

As much as Killian normally would have rolled his eyes and made some comment about the unimportance of the tile pathways, he softened a bit. He remembered the last time he had seen Emma, and how unsettled she looked. Like a deer in the headlights, in her own home.

That had been on Monday, and Killian hadn't been over there since. Now that it was Saturday, he figured he had avoided checking in at the Gold project for as long as he could. It was hard, he felt torn between wanting to know everything about Emma Swan and wanting to keep a safe distance.

"Tell her I'll be right over," Killian said quickly hanging up the phone. He took one more look around his own backyard. There were no gazebos or hand laid brick. There were no intricately plotted flowerbeds. No fountains. But when he and Liam had bought the place all of those years ago, it had been the proudest day of his life.

So perhaps all of the memories here were not bad, perhaps he just had to work a bit harder to uncover the good ones.

The plumbing for the sprinkler system had gone in the front and the backyards during the week. When Killian's truck pulled up to the curb, he could see his workers putting the wooden fence in place. It would all be fine if he avoided the place, he knew that. Still though he wanted to be there.

"There he is," Will said removing his gloves and walking over to Killian. He had been making his way around back when Will had caught sight of him. "Thought I would have to take over the business if you didn't start showing up here."

"It's a busy time of year, you know that."

"I'm just glad you're here," Will's arm pointed to the pallets of bricks that had been ordered weeks ago to be used in the yard. "She's not pleased."

"I'll take care of it," Killian said looking toward the house. Emma wasn't outside so he would have to go to the door. He would use the back, safer from prying eyes that way. He caught enough shit for following her in on Monday, he didn't need to amplify it.

The back porch was not as empty as he had last seen it. Gone were the empty moving boxes that had scattered the space that was now filled with furniture. A bench with colorful pillows and a small table with a candle on it. A yoga mat sat in the far corner with a dog eared book and a bottle of water. All of which he assumed belonged to Emma. He could oddly picture her out here, even amongst the chaos surrounding her yard.

She just seemed like one of those people who was immune to the insanity, but allowed it in her life anyway.

"Killian… hi," Emma said when she answered the door. Her expression was surprisingly readable to him, if he didn't know any better he would say she was happy. It was a stark contrast to the last time he had seen her. "I'm sorry to make you drive all the way out here, I know you're probably busy…"

"Don't worry, love, it's my job."

Her face fell a bit but not for long. In an instant she was back on, pleasant even and guiding him into the kitchen. Her long hair was tied in a braid that fell down her back, and she was dressed in jeans with a sweater in a lovely shade of pale pink. Everything about her reminded him of a doll, so poised and careful.

This time he felt a bit better about being inside her house. He wasn't covered in filth from work, and he didn't have on dirty work boots. Killian was still in his jeans and ragged sweatshirt. But it also meant he forgot to put on his gloves before coming to talk to her. He had left his truck so quickly he didn't cover his prosthetic hand.

"I saw the bricks and they're terrible…" she started, heading over to the circular dining table in the kitchen nook. The surface was scattered with her laptop and some papers and home magazines. Clearly she had done some research before arguing the yard's design. "I found some other examples that I like better…."

"I see that," he laughed. For someone who didn't care too much about living here, she certainly managed to keep a pristine home and gather a lot of ideas. He tried to tuck his hand in his pocket to hide it from her view. In the gloves or in dim lighting he could normally get away with the fake hand, but he had forgotten to put on the gloves and it was broad daylight… so it was pretty obvious.

"I know Neal gave you instructions already but do you think we could use those bricks in the front and maybe this limestone in the back?" She pointed to an image of a lush backyard garden with a limestone path in grass leading to a bird bath. Her hands were so soft looking, her painted fingers gliding across the glossy page as her bracelets dangled.

Killian was uneasy. It had been her husband who ordered them in the first place, and if the Gold's were as powerful as Killian suspected they were, he didn't want to go against them. Even in such a seemingly small way.

"If it makes you feel any better, all of the homes on this street used those bricks for their pathways…" Killian chimed in. He remembered putting them in across the street at the Mills' house and then at the Nolan's and even at Ruby's grandmother's house. It was all part of the uniform structure that was the cul de sac.

Emma looked up at him, her green eyes were lighter today. Not quite so concerned as the last time he had seen her. From that alone he was relieved. It was interesting though that, even in her most relaxed state, she appeared caged. Like there was so much more she wished she could say and do.

"I can talk to him if that's what you're worried about," she said finally. Behind her was the bay windows that looked out toward the backyard where he saw the fence being put up. Normally he would just allow the wife to start the fight, to bring up her dissatisfaction with the landscaping design choices the husband made, but the look in her eyes made him want to be the one to take that hit. "He can be tough to deal with."

"It's all right, I will make some suggestions," Killian offered with a soft smile. Again, interpreting that she wanted to say more about her husband but biting back on it. "I may not be able to get him to agree on the front yard but perhaps the backyard could be negotiable."

Emma smiled back at him. One that reached her eyes.

"Which tiles would you like me to suggest?" he asked, pointing to the magazines on the table. Not even realizing that he had used his prosthetic hand to do so. He tried to pull it away before she noticed but her head had frozen. And not on the clutter on the table. "I... um…"

"I'm sorry, I just didn't realize…" she stumbled over her words, an adorable shade of pink highlighting her cheeks. "I would have never noticed, you usually wear the gloves."

"Boating accident… when I was seven years old," he said, catching her looking. He remained calm though, mostly because she wasn't riddled with disgust or judgement. Emma's face was simply kind in expression.

"I didn't mean to stare…"

"It's quite alright, love." He took a step toward her, now they were only a few inches apart, as his prosthetic hand extended in her direction. She took it, with much trepidation, and other than the day he met her when they shook hands, this was the only other time they had touched.

Her fingers slowly traced the palm, the soft manicured tips dragging along the prosthetic. He felt himself wishing it was his real hand she was touching, but then again wouldn't that be incredibly inappropriate?

"It doesn't prevent me from doing anything."

Emma considered him, her eyes searching his face. He turned away, knowing that if someone were to walk in right now it would be a horrible scene.

At the same moment, she seemed to also realize that the two of them had crossed a line. It was unspoken, not entirely obvious, but nevertheless the air in the room had shifted.

"So," Killian cleared his throat, stepping slightly away from Emma. "The tiles. I will have a quote for you by the end of the day."

"Perfect," she replied. Her posture stiffened and she busied her hands with sorting the magazines on the table. Out of the corner of his eye Killian could see the fencework coming along, and while he could have let Emma Swan trace his palm all day he had no business doing that. "I'll um, I'll be around so just let me know."

"Certainly." His smile was terse and he knew it, forced. But hers was the same.

And as he headed back into the yard to continue doing his job, he wondered if Emma Swan was thinking the same thing that he was.

That night, after spending the rest of the day working in the Emerald Forest, Killian and Will plopped their arses down on two barstools for a well earned round of drinks at The Rose and the Thorn.

"What'll it be, boys?" Robin joked as he poured their usual two fingers of rum into tumblers and slid them down the wooden bar.

Killian graciously took the glass and tilted it so the liquid coated his throat. It went down smooth, it usually did on Saturdays when he found himself planted on a barstool washing away the week. He twirled the empty glass in his hand, focusing on the surface marks from frequent use.

"Another?" Robin asked, pulling Killian's attention away.

He thought on it, hesitating a little too long before setting the glass down for his friend to finish it.

"Ah, there he is, I hoped you weren't getting lazy," said Will nudging Killian on the shoulder. They both went through another round and then rose from the barstools to claim the dartboard before it got busy. The night was young, it had just gotten dark outside, which meant soon enough people would start pouring in.

"Don't look now but someone's already staring at you," said Will, taking the darts from the pegs and handing them to Killian. Who looked in the direction Will was. "Hey, I told you not to look."

"I've never been a great listener."

Killian gave Will a sardonic look. This was all part of their normal banter for a Saturday night. It was the familiarity of it that Killian appreciated, because it wasn't like he had a family with traditions or dinners. His friends were his family now.

"One of these days I want to trade faces with you… just to see what it's like."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Killian muttered while throwing the first dart, it landed just below the center.

"Oh don't pretend." Will threw the next dart. "You draw a crowd everywhere."

"It's just the dim lighting."

"Normally you would have been over there in a heartbeat."

Killian looked to the small table of young women, specifically the one who had also been looking at him. She was pretty, brunette, dark eyes, a knowing smile on her face. She was his type and someone that usually caught his eye, Will was right. He politely nodded and went back to his dart throwing. Robin brought them over another round and stayed for a drink of his own before the bar got busy.

They spent so much time at this bar because Robin owned it, and Ruby worked there also. They could all spend time together, but on nights like tonight when the place was packed to the gills it was hard to have any sort of quality time.

The air was thick, with all of the bodies packed in the tight space. Will had wandered off to talk to some girl who often spent her weekends in the bar. Which left Killian alone with his drink, he toyed with his phone and let his mind drift to when he used to spend his Saturday nights in the company of a woman he actually cared for.

The crowd drowned out many other sounds but it couldn't quiet the voice in his head. The one that told him to stop using these distractions as a means to avoid opening back up again. It was so much easier to take the easy way out.

His eyes locked with a woman a few feet from him. Not the same from before, she was different. Her hair was long, it hung in curls down her back and it was a light blonde. He had to look twice, to make sure it wasn't Emma. It wasn't, the woman was beautiful certainly but she wasn't a match. Not even close.

Killian downed the rest of his drink and made his way over to the blonde. Her hair was a few shades darker and her skin wasn't the same smooth, fair complexion. Her eyes weren't a striking shade of green. But if he was honest with himself, truly honest, he knew why he allowed himself to be drawn to her.

Sunday morning bright and early, Emma was throwing in a few loads of laundry. The basement of the new house was unfinished, for now, but that was where the washer and dryer were. So she spent an awful lot of time in the dark, cinder block space throwing in load after load of clothes.

The boxes that had been on the back porch were now down here, stacked neatly in a corner. Emma had decided to assemble the deck furniture on her own one night when Neal neglected to call before coming home.

That was the thing with him, he would make grandiose promises to her about the future, and then they would fall by the wayside as quickly as they had been dreamt up.

She had sorted out all of the delicate clothes, wanting to do some of those to save money on dry cleaning when she stumbled upon a pair of Neal's pants with his house keys in the pocket. Emma rolled her eyes, if she had a dollar for every time she found something he had forgotten to take out she could have bought all of Storybrooke ten times over.

It was a small inconvenience for her, to have to check Neal's pockets, but these days the tiny things were adding up to mean more and more.

Like the surprise party Neal was apparently planning in their backyard. The one that had kept Emma on edge for the past week. It was probably why she had snapped so quickly when the bricks had arrived. The ones Neal had picked without talking to her.

Was it odd that her first instinct had been to call Killian and not Neal? Well, that wasn't something she was willing to dive into.

After doing the laundry, and thinking far too much about things she couldn't control, Emma began to get dressed in the master bathroom.

And a car horn began honking. She was just about finished, securing her watch on her wrist, putting small gold studs in her ears, zipping the knee high brown boots she wore over her jeans.

Mary Margaret had asked Emma if she had any interest in going to the Storybrooke farmers market. And it seemed like just as good of an excuse as any to get out of her house. To get out of her own head.

"I got us coffee for the ride, it takes a bit to get into town," Mary Margaret said when Emma climbed into her car. The steaming to-go mugs left an aroma in the car of coffee that was calming. The morning was chilly, and it felt cosy in the car. She wasn't sure what it was about this woman, but everything about her felt like home.

"Thank you," Emma said taking a cup and sipping it. "How far away is town?"

"Well, on a good day… twenty minutes but today probably closer to forty. There's a lot of construction."

There was a time when Emma lived within walking distance of a farmers market. That was a trade off of living in the wide open suburbs where she had to get into a car anytime she needed a gallon of milk.

The highway was sectioned off by large orange cones from all of the road work that was happening. Emma noticed a few other incomplete neighborhoods that she remembered Neal pointing out to her as the work of his father. Well… and now Neal she supposed.

The trees were few and far between as the housing developments took over and the landscape became more manicured. Row after row of box houses lined up ready for families to move in. That's where Neal had been all weekend, working on some plumbing issue in one of the developments. She fixed her eyes elsewhere, on anything. An old gum wrapper on the floor, an air freshener hanging on the mirror, the name of the radio station on the screen.

Neal hadn't been around since the brick incident. So he had no idea she was angry, no idea she felt like he micromanaged her even when he wasn't there. But for her, it wasn't so much the appearance of the bricks, it was more so that they were exactly the same as everyone else's.

Emma didn't consider herself to be particularly high maintenance, but one thing she didn't like was falling in line with everyone else. Her whole life had been a rebellious streak where she continuously ran the other way from what was expected of her.

It was how she had run away from several group homes even though it would have been easier to just stay there quiet. It was how she had met Neal. In a bar, in a shady neighborhood, that took fake ID's and let her in without so much as a second glance at 17. It was how she had run from him the second she found out he would be working for his father. It was how she had done it again when he told her they would have to move to Storybrooke.

The closer they got to the central city of Storybrooke, the more Emma felt intrigued. Where she was living was such a stiff, suburban complex but the town at the center was much different. The symmetrical neighborhoods and manicured shrubs turned to old townhouses and apartment buildings. Little sidewalks lined with unique, quirky structures where no two looked the same.

Young people flooded the streets, which were narrow and crowded. There were couples walking dogs, groups of friends sharing coffee on stoops, and cars parked all along the sides.

"I'm so terrible at parallel parking, that's the one issue with coming to this," Mary Margaret mumbled as she cut the wheel and backed the car into a narrow spot along the street. "They block off half of this street."

Emma looked ahead at the wooden structures blocking off the roadway. Just beyond that she could see the farmer's market bustling with people. The tops of white tents were visible and Emma could smell the fresh scent of donuts and sweets as she climbed out of the car.

"This is quite the operation isn't it?" Emma said, taking in all of the activity. It was probably the most at home she had felt since moving here. She was a city person, always had been, and while it wasn't Boston she was stepping into, it was a place that was different.

"I think you'll like it here, there's all kind of fun things to see," Mary Margaret said, her steps on the cracked sidewalk falling in pace with Emma's. "Thanks for coming along."

Emma looked over at Mary Margaret. Her face and smile were soft, she wore a pretty blue sweater. Even though they hadn't known each other for that long, she was one of the few people she had warmed to not just in Storybrooke but in years.

"Are you kidding? I love this kind of stuff."

"You do?" Mary Margaret seemed surprised at Emma's admission. "I only mean that you seem like you aren't interested in the town much…"

She looked over at the dark-haired woman again, trying to gauge what she was getting at. Her soft face had gone concerned, her brows furrowing in on one another. Emma made note of how tense she herself had gone. Instead of holding onto that resistance, she let it go. Mary Margaret wasn't being nasty, she was a nice person just scared to breach the guardedness.

It was then that Emma realized how good she had gotten at reading people.

They made their way through the crowd. Mostly young people perusing the various stands. Between the food options and the boutique tents there was a lot to see. Mary Margaret led them through the maze of people toward a restaurant on the corner. The front windows took up the face of the building and inside Emma could see people eating breakfast at the checkered cloth tables.

"I figured we could stop by Granny's and grab Ruby." Mary Margaret held the door for her to the sound of a ringing bell above. "She works Sunday mornings so she should be good to leave soon."

"There you two are I was beginning to waste away here," Ruby said from behind the breakfast bar. The brunette was tall, and clearly garnered a male following, the men at the bar stools eating the breakfasts right where she was polishing silverware. Her long legs were in a pair of tight red shorts and her hair was in two pigtails. She and Mary Margaret were night and day in comparison.

"Sorry, it took a while to get into town," Mary Margaret took a seat on one of the swivel stools on the end, Emma followed. "You know how it is Sunday's."

"That's why I get here at 6 am," the brunette smirked as she polished off the last fork and walked over to take her apron off. Emma could practically hear the men at the counter sigh.

"Emma, this is Ruby's grandma's place, it's a bit of an institution…"

"Yeah, years ago when the city started the revamp, some developer offered her big money for this place… to turn it into apartments. And she wouldn't do it."

Emma looked around. The place was certainly charming. It wasn't massive, the whole space was cozy. Filled with booths and a jukebox, metal chairs and checkered floors. It was the quintessential small town diner, in a city that had exploded around it.

The swinging doors the led to the area behind the breakfast bar swung open, and much to Emma's surprise, out walked Killian Jones. Looking more worse for wear than she had ever seen him.

"Morning sunshine," Ruby said when she noticed him. He had hardly looked up. His black hair a raggedy mess, his eyes fixated on the cup of coffee he was pouring, his feet dragging on the floor. When he finally looked up his eyes landed directly on Emma and she felt her whole body spike in response.

"Rough night?" she said quickly, not knowing what else to say when his gaze was still aimed at her. He was in the outfit she had seen him in yesterday at her house. And now here he was on a Sunday morning, fresh off a one night stand. But why was that any of her business?

"I've had better," he said back.

Emma realized they had company. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Ruby's gaze, who watched on pensively. She wasn't sure what pull she felt toward him or why, but it was something. Each time she saw Killian Jones, or thought of him for that matter, that tether got the tiniest bit stronger.

And she caught herself thinking of him more often than she would admit out loud.

"Last I saw you were twelve drinks deep buying another round for a bachelorette party," Ruby chimed in thankfully, bringing the other two people into the conversation.

Killian's right hand reached up and scratched behind his ear, a soft hint of red hitting his cheeks. Emma tried to picture him in a bar, buying drinks for women, maybe going home with one of them. And then she stopped there. For whatever reason, her imagination couldn't go beyond that.

"The bar next door is owned by an old friend of ours," Mary Margaret leaned into Emma's ear and said.

"You can get there through those swinging doors," Ruby pointed. Now she was assembling some sort of sandwich on a plate for Killian. It was an intimate act, prepping someone's favorite food when they were worse for wear without them even asking. "I'm gonna grab my bag then I'll be ready to go. Killian, eat something so you don't look like a zombie all day."

Ruby handed him the sandwich and almost immediately he leaned over the counter to dig in. His hands wrapped around the buttered biscuit on either side.

"I'm gonna run to the ladies room I'll be right back," said Mary Margaret before hurrying off.

Then it was just the two of them.

"I apologize for you having to see me in this state, love," he said before taking another bite. His face almost immediately perked up at the taste of the greasy sandwich, a feeling Emma knew well. After a late night, a breakfast sandwich was all she ever needed. And back in the day it had been all she could afford.

"It's ok, I recognize that face…" She used to look like that on Sunday mornings. Before becoming a housewife, she thought but chose not to add.

"Ah, well, I must have missed you out last night." He smirked.

"Unless you were in my living room watching Lifetime movies, I don't think we would have crossed paths."

"Sounds far lovelier than anything I partook in," he shook his head. Emma smiled, he was oddly an easy person for her to talk to.

"In fairness, this is your side of town, not mine. You were just doing what you do." Emma didn't necessarily want to know what it was that he did, and with whom but she tried to remain nonchalant as she toyed with the sleeves of her sweater that peeked out of her jacket. "Unless you don't do this every weekend…."

He stopped chewing and looked her way, his facial hair grown longer than usual, his eyes foggy from lack of sleep.

"I try not to," he offered. "Every other Sunday I don't schedule myself any work."

"Interesting…" Emma studied him, it felt like he wanted to say more. "That must be hard to do though, especially during this time of year."

A beat went by, and Emma thought that would be the end of it. It certainly seemed like a nice end point for a conversation between her and her gardener.

"Every other Sunday I go to see my mum."

"Oh." It surprised even Emma that he said it. Mostly because he had told her he had lost his parents. "Does she live far away….?"

"It's about a two hour drive from here." He stood up, his sandwich gone and the coffee drained from the cup. "I can't go that often…. She's in… It's complicated."

"I get complicated…" Just as Emma was about to tell him he didn't have to get into it if he didn't want, their conversation was cut off by Ruby and Mary Margaret returning to the counter.

"Alright, let's get me out of here, I've already worked a full shift and I need some food truck nachos," Ruby said.

"Perfect," Emma replied, standing up from the stool a bit too quickly. It made her nervous, that he felt so comfortable talking to her. Because she was starting to feel it toward him, and she had spent most of her life repressing that sort of thing.

"Killian seems to be doing a bit better these days," Mary Margaret said a little later when the three of them were walking down a city block with a shared order of pulled pork nachos.

"He has his good days and bad days," Ruby replied, eating a glob of sour cream off of her finger. "Sunday's are always tough though, cause he goes to see his mom."

"It must be brutal."

"Is she sick or something?" Emma asked. She had never had parents, so she had no idea what it would be like to make a decent drive once a week to visit family. "He was saying it's hard to visit her…"

"He talked about her with you?" Both Ruby and Mary Margaret stopped walking, their eyes locked on Emma who was not expecting that reaction.

She treaded lightly, nervous to say the wrong thing.

"Just a little bit, before we left the diner when you two weren't there…"

"Oh," Ruby said, falling into step again. "He just doesn't bring her up much."

Emma wasn't sure why this felt like such a victory for her. Maybe it was because she enjoyed talking to him, maybe it was something beyond that. Either way she was starting to feel a comfort with Killian Jones that was unlike other dynamics in her life.

"I didn't know his mother was alive, he had said before that his brother raised him. So I assumed his parents were both-"

"He talked to you about Liam?" The women stopped yet again to look at Emma like she had a third eye.

"Briefly." Emma went on the defense. Her guard up even though Ruby and Mary Margaret weren't threatening in any way. But the last thing she needed was her new friends worrying. "It wasn't a big deal."

"His mom is in prison. For killing his father."

Now Emma was the one staring wide eyed. His mother had killed his father?

"Ruby…" Mary Margaret interrupted.

"What? It's public knowledge, if she wanted to look it up she could." Ruby picked up another chip and ate it. "Besides, it seems he's more open with her than normal."

This thought made Emma squirm. Not because she didn't like being around Killian, she did, but perhaps a little too much. Certainly too much for someone who was for all intents and purposes 'married' to someone else.

Later that night, as Emma returned to her new home on Willow Lane, she breezed past Neal's car parked in the driveway and headed inside where she could already hear him on the phone with someone in his home office. She had stayed out with Ruby and Mary Margaret all day, enjoying the farmer's market and then eating dinner at Granny's after. Emma had to admit, it was probably the best grilled cheese she had ever tried.

The entire house smelled like fast food, and Emma crinkled her nose, not that she was opposed to it. Her career as a personal trainer didn't prohibit her from being human and craving a greasy burger. But it was the mood that accompanied the whole thing. And all of the good feelings that had come as a distraction during the day, were gone.

When Neal caught sight of her from the office, she could see the greasy bag on the edge of the desk. Their eyes locked and his were only filled with contempt. Like he couldn't fathom the idea of her not being there to cook him.

Ice shot through Emma's veins at his stare. And then just as quickly as it had happened, it was gone. All of his focus went back to his work. As per usual.

Neal could run late, miss meals, birthdays, take calls at parties, and Emma would say nothing. But the second she fell out of step, he turned nasty.

It had been a while since she had seen it, and standing in the kitchen right now watching through the french doors as he ignored her, she was on her best behavior all the time without realizing it.

"I'm going to bed," she said coldly, careful to make her steps extra heavy as she made her way upstairs to the bedroom. The sound of the office doors closing made her jump but she kept walking. Not that she would be sleeping anywhere near him tonight. Emma quickly changed and crawled into bed in the guest room.

Emma wondered what it would be like to curl into bed next to a warm body. It was something she felt herself wanting more these days than she cared to admit. Nowadays the only warmth she got was from her pillows.

She rolled over onto her side so she could see out the window. The sky was foggy, so she couldn't see the stars. Emma reached her hand down between the mattress and the boxspring. For what she had found in Neal's pants pocket earlier that day when she was doing laundry. The tiny plastic baggie that had been buried underneath his forgotten house keys. It was only a matter of time before he noticed it was gone.

The white powder glistened in the moonlight, the baggie resting between Emma's fingers. Cocaine. It was his. It had to be. Why else would it have been in his pants pocket that he thought was going to the dry cleaner's?

She had done her best to forget about it, all day but that was easier said than done. Emma had no idea what to do with it. For now, she would slip it back between the mattresses, rest her head on the down pillow. And for once, allow herself a few minutes to think that somewhere out there, a better life awaited her.


	6. Chapter 6

**ATTN:** **A special, special thanks to my beta resident_of_storybrooke who is a gift and also to shady-swan-jones for the incredible art and also to onceuponaprincessworld for keeping me accountable and reminding me to keep writing :)**

 **So I tried to get this chapter up quicker than the last one (aiming to keep the updates at once a week). Hopefully it didn't disappoint.**

 **Thanks for reading! Comment, say hi, stay tuned, whatever!**

 **Hope everyone has a great weekend :)**

Sitting in the visitation room across from his mother, Killian wondered if there would ever come a day when he wouldn't have to talk to her through a glass panel. The visitation room was busy today, it usually was on Sunday's. A few seats down from him Killian spotted a young boy with curly blonde hair, no more than twelve talking through the window to a woman. He only hoped the little boy didn't have to do this routine as long as he did.

"You really do look like you need more sleep, Killian," Alice Jones said not long after he sat down.

He had come straight from Granny's, tossing back a quick cup of coffee and his usual breakfast sandwich before making the drive up here. It was entirely possible that the sweat on his brow still smelled of rum. That the dark circles beneath his eyes had grown even more purple. And despite his mother having been behind bars for a long time she was still perceptive enough to spot a hangover.

"Well… I didn't sleep much last night." She didn't need to know any more than that.

His mum leaned back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. Her dark brows cinched in what appeared to be confusion.

"You haven't come in here like this in a while," she finally said when he was good and nervous from the silence. Even from where she was, she was still his mother.

"I know."

"What's going on?"

Killian didn't immediately jump to answer that question. For obvious reasons. One of them being that he couldn't fully wrap his head around what made him do what he did last night, and now in the Maine Women's Correctional Facility didn't seem to be the place for that. His eyes shifted to the linoleum floor. The speckled pattern masking the dirt that had probably fallen off of his boots.

"Do you ever talk about anything with anyone?" she continued, rather uncertain of her words. "What I mean is do you have people in your life you feel you can trust with things?"

"Aye, mum, I do."

"Is there someone….?" she started to ask but hesitated.

"What?" He looked back up at her. She looked almost scared to finish the question. A part of him hated that.

"Is there someone you feel safe talking to?"

"Yes."

"Are you together?"

"No." Killian shifted in his seat, feeling weird even referencing his personal life in here with his mum. "She's with someone else."

"I see." His mom uncrossed her arms and leaned forward on the table. "She must be special though."

"What makes you say that?"

"In all the years I've been here, all of the times I've asked you if there was someone in your life that was significant, you never even so much as blinked in response."

Killian couldn't help but note the small light in his mother's eyes. For so long, when he came here to visit her he kept their conversations surfacey. Small talk, pleasantries, nothing deep. In the beginning it was mostly out of necessity. He just couldn't bring the outside world in here, and when he left he couldn't bring his mother out. So it was difficult to get even remotely personal.

When he drove home that day, he thought of all those times before when he had wanted to tell his mother about Milah. Or how many times he had wanted to tell Milah about his mum. But he never did. He kept them separate, especially when Milah started to fall deeper down the rabbit hole. Addiction was a nasty disease and some days it was all he could do to keep her alive.

For whatever reason though, he had referenced Emma. Out loud he hadn't said her name or anything about her really. However when his mother had asked if he trusted anyone, she was the first name that popped into his mind.

Maybe it was because he had shared so much with her recently, or that he had seen her right before he made the drive. Or maybe it was deeper than that but he wasn't interested in addressing that right now. So he just continued to drive through the windy back roads all the way to his little house in the woods.

Milah will have been gone for three years in June. The anniversary of her death creeping up on him each year like a monster that lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike him down. Perhaps he would have been able to handle her death better if he felt that it was an accident.

But it wasn't. No part of her death had been a coincidence. Every detail of it screamed set up. What was he to do though? All of this time later, and a local gardener with absolutely no pull in the community other than being something nice for housewives to look at. It wasn't enough for him to be who he was when the forces responsible for her death were so powerful.

So much so that one could even say they built the entire town.

When Killian arrived home he did what he usually did. Collapsed on the couch and sunk into the cushions like he was boneless. In his peripheral vision he could see his fishing boat overgrown with weeds. Down by the river where he had last seen it this morning. And every day before that.

Before Milah had died, he used to come back from visiting his mum and pretend he had been working. Killian hated lying to her, but it was something he had been too nervous to concern her with when they first started dating. Then it became something he felt he was actively hiding. How does one verbalize that? His mother had killed his father and was now in prison indefinitely?

That was why it was so perplexing to him when he almost said those very words to Emma Swan this morning at Granny's.

Everything about her was perplexing to him. The woman was a walking contradiction and everything about it was fascinating.

The way she seemed sort of broken but also incredibly strong.

The way her voice would shift from soft to determined within the same sentence.

The way she was an open book to him when he looked in her eyes but her body language screamed guarded.

Emma Swan was an enigma, but she was also married. So he could wonder about her all he wanted, but beyond that he had to keep his thoughts in check. Because if he let his mind drift, Killian would begin to think less than appropriate things about her and he didn't want to do that.

Despite his rough upbringing, he tried to be a gentleman.

The key word being tried.

Those tendencies didn't always win out. A prime example would be his behavior last night. Seeking out a knock off version of Emma to take to bed. Engaging in unattached sex for a few hours before parting ways with no intentions of seeing the girl again. It was certainly not gentlemanly. And this morning when he woke up next to her, they did their polite goodbyes, he felt disappointed in himself.

It truly had been a walk of shame when he crawled out of that bed and made his way to Granny's for breakfast. The numbness that usually dulled the sting of morning afters wasn't there anymore. And to walk downstairs right to Emma Swan, the woman he had been envisioning in bed with him, it all felt like a sick joke.

Still, the second he locked eyes with her he felt like his gaze couldn't shift anywhere else.

Monday morning was gloomy. The sky overcast with clouds as Killian drove to the Emerald Forest for a day of work. It would be the first in a while that it would be just him in the neighborhood for the day so he was a bit nervous pulling up in front of Emma's house.

Her husband's car was no longer in the driveway, he must have already left for work. Good. Killian didn't want to have to look Neal Gold in the eye anymore than he had to.

The fence was coming along, acting as a barrier toward the whole back of the house. Right now the wood was bare, untreated but eventually it would be painted the same white as the trim around the rest of the house. He had quite literally built a white picket fence for them.

Killian drank down the rest of his now lukewarm coffee and got out of his truck to get to work. He would do as much as he could before the sky opened up. The weather forecast had said to expect rain.

And rain it did. About an hour into his work, he was pelted with giant drops of rain. It came on so quick that he hardly had time to get to the back porch before realizing he was completely soaked.

"Bloody hell…" he whispered as he took off his dirt covered gloves that were now drenched. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm but it did no use, his hair began to drip again seconds later.

"Killian…?" a soft voice came from behind him. He had been so concerned with being wet that he hadn't heard the back door open.

"Emma…" he said turning around. She stood in the doorway, her long blonde hair in a braid that hung over her shoulder. Her piercing green eyes looked tired, worn. There were bags under her eyes and it looked like she had been upset. "I'm sorry, the rain caught me by surprise."

"I can see that," she replied, her eyes drifting down his body. Killian wasn't sure if her stare lingered or if he was imagining it but either way he felt a shiver run down his spine. "Why don't you come in."

She stepped back and opened the door the whole way. Before he could talk himself out of it he stepped by her and followed her inside.

"I can throw those in the dryer for you if you want," she said when the door was closed. The only other sound around them was the soft patter of rain on the concrete outside. Inside, the house was cold. There were no lights on, no evidence of life, other than Emma's physical presence and a mug on the counter.

"You don't have to do this, the rain will stop in a little while," he said, not sure if she meant all of his clothes or his gloves. But he was sure that his face was getting warm.

"It's alright, I don't want you waiting around in wet clothes…" Her eyes did that thing again. Where they lingered on him. "You're soaked through."

Emma walked off before he could reply, and before he was done being under her gaze. When she returned she had a pile of folded clothes in her hand. He took them with a polite nod and a smile. As if he could ever tell her no.

Her phone began to ring, off in the distance but she made no move to answer.

"You can get that if you want," he offered.

"No, it's okay," she said a little too quickly. He chose not to push. Knowing he wouldn't want to be if it were him. Whoever was calling her that she was avoiding, well that was her business.

He found his way to a powder room that was in a hallway off of the kitchen. The house was entirely too big for two people. There were so many different passages and rooms all filled with expensive furnishings and gadgets. Emma had given him what he could only assume was her husband's clothes. A pair of black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. Which was several levels of inappropriate but he couldn't bother himself to care.

On his way back to the kitchen he spotted the office, and he wanted so badly to peak inside. See what he could find in there. Probably not much. If Neal and his father were who he thought they were, anything that could point toward Milah's death was buried. It wouldn't be in plain view.

When he returned to the kitchen he found Emma sitting on the large couch staring out the windows that looked onto the backyard. The entire color scheme of the room was washed out, white and gray. She was so still she looked like she could be a painting and he kept quiet as long as he could because he didn't want to disturb her. She looked so peaceful.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were back," she said startled. And got up from the couch to walk over to him. She was dressed simply, in an old Boston University t-shirt that had been cut to fit her and a pair of jean shorts that showed off her strong legs. For all of the money these people had, it was interesting that she chose to dress so laid back.

She took the wet bundle of clothes from his hands and their fingers touched, just barely, but it was enough. It was enough for both of them to notice the shock that came with it.

The air in the room felt like it was electric. Killian tried to focus on anything other than her, but he couldn't. He wanted to know her, and he wanted to know why she had been crying. He wanted to know why someone so fragile looking could appear so determined behind that veil. How she gave off both an impression of being delicate and completely unshakable at the same time.

"Do you want something to drink… or eat?" she asked when she came back from throwing his clothes in the dryer. Killian knew he should politely decline and leave the confines of her house as soon as the buzzer went off but he also knew he liked how he felt around her. And that outweighed his conscience.

"Hot tea would be great if you have it, love."

"Sure." She smiled, and this time it was one that reached her eyes. She glided through the kitchen like a ballerina. Each movement so precise, elegant as she made them tea. He watched from the table wondering when she would realize she should have never invited him in here.

As she carried the two cups of tea over to him, her foot much have caught on something because she slipped to her knees and spilled the hot drink all over the porcelain white floor. Killian hated to laugh, he really did. But after spending the better part of five minutes likening her to a gazelle it was rather funny.

"Here, love, let me give you a hand with that," he said kneeling down to help her clean up the mugs. When she looked up at him though her eyes were brimming with tears again and Killian felt like his heart might burst at the sight of it. "Emma, it's only tea."

"I know," she whispered but she didn't appear any less upset. Her eyes were fixated on her wrist watch which had apparently been a casualty of the spill.

"Is it ruined?" he asked, looking at the hands on the watch that had stopped moving.

"I'm not sure." She sounded so defeated. It then struck him that perhaps if her husband had been here instead of him, he wouldn't have been so forgiving.

"You know they say never to cry over spilled milk," he said, taking the rag from her hand to begin wiping the tile. "But it rarely ever is about the milk isn't it?"

His mother always used to say that. If someone's upset over something small, chances are it really isn't about the something small. That it was just the catalyst.

"No, it's not." She was on her knees next to him when she looked over at Killian, and it seemed like the tears had gone back to where ever they came from. He wanted to ask if everything was alright, but it felt like a stupid question given how upset she looked after almost no provocation.

"There," he said wiping up the last bit of spilled tea. "Can't even tell it happened."

"Thank you," Emma said standing along with him. "I didn't mean for any of that to happen."

"It's quite alright, love."

"The spilled tea or the crying." She turned away and threw the rag in a wicker basket next to the counter. "It's just been a tough morning."

"I've had a few of those myself… as you saw yesterday." Killian knew that wasn't what she was talking about, but he shifted his eyebrows in hopes that he could get her to smile again.

"The move has just been… hard." Emma filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove to heat. She leaned up against the counter to face him, and if he didn't know any better he would think she was growing to be comfortable around him. "I guess it's not a secret that I was not the one who chose to come here."

Killian had heard from Ruby about Emma's reluctance to live in Storybrooke. But even if he hadn't, it was plain to see, she was not the one who made the choice to move to town.

"I gathered," he said, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. "Why did you agree to move here then?"

"Because I'm trying to make something work that doesn't anymore," she said matter of factly. It was almost jarring, the way she referred to her marriage so clinically. It was the one thing her eyes didn't brim with tears over.

"Marriage isn't easy, I don't know that anyone has it right."

"Have you ever been married?" she asked crossing her arms.

"No, I have not. But I know my parents never had the right idea of things…"

"What happened with them?"

"Well it's…. complicated." He considered not telling her. Just leaving it at that. But he thought that maybe right now she needed to hear about a marriage that was more dysfunctional than her own. "My mum is in prison, for killing my father."

She didn't jump, she didn't twitch, she didn't bat an eye at what he said.

"That's why I go visit her every other Sunday… it's a two hour drive so it's hard to get there. Especially when I have a job that extends into the weekend."

"And that's why your brother raised you."

"Aye." She had remembered. "Liam… he's well, he's gone now too."

"Killian… I'm so sorry."

"I don't expect anyone to understand why I would make an effort to visit my mom when I can. On paper it sounds screwed up. The whole thing. But I go because-"

"Because she's all you have." Emma's eyes were fixed on something else. Glazed over focusing on a distant memory he assumed. She had grown up in the system, where Killian would have been without his brother. "I get it. I would do the same if I could. I was a baby in a basket."

"That's why you wanted all of this," Killian gestured to the suburban dream she had forced herself into that now engulfed them. "It's why you want it to work."

"Yeah, it was my only shot."

The room went quiet for a few moments. And their eyes landed on each other again. Somewhere between his story and hers they found that they understood one another.

"That was too much, I didn't mean to lay that on you," Emma said breaking the silence. Her cheeks had reddened just a touch and Killian was sure that he wasn't the only one who reached the understanding. She was just a bit more resistant to it, and rightfully so. Her diamond ring sparkled against the dull gray of her shirt. On all levels she was completely unavailable, and he had to respect that.

Emma turned, her braid flinging over her shoulder, as she removed the boiling kettle from the stove to pour the hot water into the original mugs. Even those weren't personal. The stark white ceramic mugs went with the rest of the décor.

"Emma…" he said, giving in to the instinct that he did not want her to be ashamed of talking to him so freely. It validated what he had felt for her when he told her about his hand… and his brother… and his mum. For whatever reason, something existed between them.

"Really… I don't want to pile on you. You're just in here avoiding the rain."

"The rain stopped nearly ten minutes ago, if I was avoiding the rain I wouldn't still be in here."

For a moment he worried that he had crossed a line by saying it. But his chest unclenched when she handed him the warm mug. As she did he noticed that a smile tugged on the corners of her lips.

After Killian left, Emma sat in the kitchen just staring at the two empty mugs. They had agreed there had been too much rain for him to get much more work done on the yard today so he went home early. And Emma allowed herself to overthink about the afternoon.

Not only had she invited him in, yet again, but he had stayed. The two of them had talked for nearly an hour before he realized the time and made a polite excuse to leave.

By being around him, she had definitely tested her limits. Killian Jones was so open with her, and she was starting to be with him, but he intrigued her in a way no one had. She was drawn to him, that much she knew for sure. She was playing with fire by drifting closer to him, but she also liked the burn.

When Killian left a bit ago, it was just as well. He probably assumed her husband would be coming home. Little did he know that Neal wasn't actually Emma's husband, and that he probably wasn't coming home at all.

It had been over twenty-four hours since Emma had discovered the keys and baggie of cocaine in Neal's pants pocket. Over a day and he had made no mention of it at all. She had been up half of the night, all of it weighing heavily on her mind. At some point she must have drifted off because before she knew it, it had been morning and he was gone.

Killian Jones was a welcome distraction. If that's all he was. Emma knew better though.

She spent the morning cleaning the house. Though it hardly ever became dirty. That would require human activity. It was when she was fluffing the white cushions on the living room couch that she noticed Killian in the backyard. He had been wearing a white shirt and work pants, covered in dirt with his gloves. Emma's eyes had fixated on his hand, the one she knew now was a prosthetic. He was turning her yard into an idyllic wonderland literally single handedly.

When the rain had started he just stayed in place, he kept working until his clothes were soaked through. Another concerning matter for Emma, she was attracted to him. There was no way she couldn't be. He was incredibly handsome, that and he also spoke to her like she was a human being.

It had been so long since Emma had been attracted to someone. In the early days with Neal she had been so excited, that feeling when you like a person and they catch you by surprise. But when their fingers had touched, she felt a literal spark at the contact with Killian. And that was terrifying.

The issue with developing a crush on someone now is that she was, to everyone else, married.

Now she was alone again and the house was empty and it was too new to make creaky sounds that could distract her. Her phone had 7 missed calls on it but she couldn't deal with those either. Maybe another day. Next to her phone sat her watch. The spilled tea had ruined it. Emma sighed. She was tired of feeling defeated. Hopefully it could all be salvaged.

Tuesday afternoon the weather had cleared up a bit and the skies were sunny. Neal hadn't come home last night, as she suspected he wouldn't. He could only keep up the façade of the doting husband for so long. No one else knew that. Certainly not the neighbors, or his father, or Mary Margaret who had invited Emma over for a glass of wine on her porch.

One of the first things that had caught Emma's eye when she moved here had been Mary Margaret and David's house. How cutesy it was and personal, it just felt like a home. All of that started with their front porch, filled with plants and sculptures and wind chimes. One of their many dogs rested at Emma's feet as she rocked in the rocking chair.

"The weather is so back and forth anymore," Mary Margaret said looking out into the gorgeous day. She was on the porch swing, next to a woman named Tink who was a nanny on the street. For Zelena Mills.

"I'm just happy it's sunny again, when it rains the girls drive me insane," said Tink. Emma felt rude wondering if that was the girl's real name. She was tiny, petite and blonde. She had seen her around the neighborhood before but today was the first time she had talked to her. "They have so much energy."

"How old are they?" Emma asked taking a sip of wine.

"The twins are 6. So at least they're in school during the day but yesterday the elementary school was closed for a water mane break."

Emma hadn't met Zelena yet, she was sort of a mystery to her. She had certainly met Regina Mills.. and her mother Cora. But if anything it seemed like the neighborhood plan was a metaphor for the family dynamic. Front and center of the cul de sac was Regina's house. Large, stately, white. It was also where Cora lived. Then just left of center was where Zelena lived with her twin daughters.

It felt odd to Emma. She wasn't sure if it was just because she had never had a family to know what those issues were like or if there really was more to that story than met the eye.

"She won't be home until late tonight," Tink said. "It's kind of rough that she had to hire me to take care of them when her mother lives next door and watches Henry all of the time."

"I never understood that," Mary Margaret chimed in. Emma wondered just how much wine these two would have to have before they really started talking. "I mean I know Regina was technically single when she had Henry but still…"

"So that Graham guy isn't the kid's father?" Emma asked. She had never met Henry Mills but she had seen him playing plenty of times. And judging from the Mayor's squeaky clean image she couldn't imagine even a whiff of scandal making it past those double front doors.

"No, they haven't been together that long really. I would say a year, said Mary Margaret.

"It's almost too perfect of a match, the mayor and the chief of police," Tink muttered. She wasn't wrong. It seemed like a lot of the powerhouses in this town were living within a stones throw from each other. Mary Margaret topped off Tink's glass before heading inside to get another bottle.

Emma felt her phone buzz in her pocket, checking the screen she pushed ignore.

She looked across the street to her house. Killian Jones was still out front working. He had been there all day, and if she was avoiding him by being over on Mary Margaret's porch right now then that's what it was. But she still caught him glance over at her, and she certainly stole a look or two herself.

"How do you get anything done with him over there like that?" Tink said after a few seconds of silence. Emma nearly spit out her wine at the comment. "Oh come on. I know you're married. But look at him."

That's the problem, Emma thought to herself, she looked a little too much. Especially since right now he had removed his shirt. And the late afternoon sun beat down on his toned body. Every inch of his upper half was sculpted and beads of sweat glistened on his skin. Emma knew she was probably flushed. With each lift of his shovel, the muscles pulled and flexed. Where did they find this guy? Chippendales?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You should see the cougars over on Maple, they form a cheering section for him when he works over there."

Emma had to laugh a bit at that. It did make her feel better knowing that just about every woman with a pulse found him attractive too.

"Do you think he knows?" Emma asked, allowing herself another glance. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the nice environment but Emma felt good.

"He 100% knows. He hangs out at that bar downtown, Rose and Thorn. One night I asked him about it, the fan club. And he just laughed." Tink sipped her glass. The wine staining her lips a deep red. "For someone so handsome he is awfully shy about it."

"I wonder why that is," Emma wondered aloud before she could pause herself.

"His girlfriend died a few years ago… I'm not sure he's ever moved on from her."

How was it possible that one person had experienced so much tragedy? His mom, his dad, his brother, and his girlfriend? Was there anyone he hadn't lost?

"You seem to know a lot about him…"

"He and I went out a few times, but nothing ever came of it." Emma wasn't sure why she felt relieved at that. "Now we're just friends."

Emma looked back out at him. His dark hair hung over his vibrant blue eyes. But for whatever reason, the feelings she had when she caught his gaze went deeper than the surface.

"What did I miss?" said Mary Margaret when she returned with another bottle of wine. Emma glanced over at Tink who had clearly caught her staring at her gardener. But instead of making a big deal of it, she just smiled.

"Oh you know, just girl stuff," Tink said before sipping her wine. Emma liked her, she was around her age. She wasn't uptight. In fact between the two of them, Emma was more rigid than her. But as a nanny she probably had all sorts of intel into Storybrooke's first family. And as Emma stared at the two homes, she knew there was far more to know about them than met the eye.

On Friday evening, Emma took advantage of the continued nice weather to do some yoga on her still empty front porch. She had ordered furniture for both the front and back yard but so far only the back had arrived.

The front yard was still mostly dirt, so it wasn't the most calming view to be taking in during yoga but at least she was outside. Emma found that the longer she spent in the house the more she felt like a caged animal.

She had never been one for yoga, at least not until a few months ago. During all of the chaos that was the move here, morning yoga was just about the only thing that got her through. As she stood to stretch her arms upward she thought of that gloomy January day three months ago when she had decided to leave Neal.

It was frigid out, he had gone to spend the week working for his father. He had been doing that more and more, leaving for a week and coming back without so much as talking about what he did while away let alone their future together.

She didn't leave him then, obviously, her mind had changed. Emma had made the move with him, and followed along with all of his ideas. She still cooked his meals and cleaned his house and fit nicely into his ideal life just like he wanted her to.

At least for now.

She checked the time on her phone, it was just about the time when Neal should be home. If Emma had to guess though she would say he won't be home for another five or six hours. But that was just based on how late he had come home the rest of the week. If at all.

She finished up her stretch and rolled up the matt. People were starting to come home from work. Kids were home from school. The neighborhood was alive with activity again. After all it was a warm spring evening.

Emma took a long warm shower. Taking extra time to wash her face, arms, legs, hair. Until she felt squeaky clean enough to get out. The bathroom was filled with steam and the tiles were slippery from the condensation as she stepped around to the closet. The walls lined with expensive clothing. His and hers. Emma's a mix of dresses blouses pants and shoes. Neal's a long row of suits and button up shirts. She walked over to the row of white ones, wondering if it was still there. The Brioni from Neiman Marcus. Third from the left of the wall.

Pulling it out from its spot on the hanger Emma examined it for what it was. A plain white dress shirt pressed crisp. Not a button out of place, save for the faded pink lipstick marks on the inside of the collar. A shade of color so trashy Emma wouldn't have used it to write a post it note.

Here hanging on Neal's side of the closet was the first, not the last, physical confirmation that he had been cheating on her. And every time she felt weak she would look at it to remember why she did what she did. It was because he did what he did.

The drive was uneventful. It was a Friday evening, and all of the traffic went in the opposite direction of the way Emma was headed. The time was gaining on 7 o'clock and if she didn't pick up the pace she would be late.

The Mayflower Diner was about an hour outside of Storybrooke, on an old desolate highway only used by truckers and hitchhikers. The building was past its prime, beyond usual wear and tear. A rat dragged a piece of bread toward a dumpster and Emma shivered.

At a table in the corner she spotted him. August Booth. She had been avoiding his calls all week, so she wasn't exactly sure how this meeting was going to go. But judging from his stern face, dark hair disheveled, leather jacket slung over the back of the chair. His beard was longer than usual and his jaw was tight even as he sipped on a stale cup of diner coffee.

"I was beginning to think you were ignoring me," said August when Emma found him in the diner. It was dark out, so the whole place was dim, occupied by a few lonely souls. The floor was dirty, chipped tiles reveal moldy foundation. The walls were stained yellow from the years of accommodating smokers. A waitress served a man a tired looking burger. One antenna tv blared a news channel in the background. It was far different from Granny's and Emma couldn't help but compare. "It's been a few weeks since we've talked."

"Sorry, this week hasn't been great," she said with little feeling. She was too tired of this dance to feel any real remorse for dodging August's calls for a week. Emma tossed the busted wrist watch on the scratched up table. "I had an accident."

"So you have nothing." He crossed his arms over his chest. The watch would have to be replaced. Hot tea and wired watches didn't mix well.

Emma debated about telling him about the baggie she had in her purse. The small amount of cocaine. But she had been at this long enough to know not to put all of her cards on the table at once.

"I have something…" she reached into her pocket and pulled out the set of keys Neal had left behind in his pants pocket. They landed on the table with a clatter. "He left these behind the other day."

"When was the last time you saw him?" August asked surveying the keys.

Emma though of lying, not admitting it had been since Sunday since he had been home and it was now Friday.

"Sunday night."

His eyebrow went up but he didn't comment on it. After all, he was one of the only other people who knew her relationship was a sham. In fact, his whole operation only worked because her marriage to Neal was bull shit.

"Why don't we start with the move to Storybrooke, how did that go?" he asked tauntingly. Emma had been avoiding him since she had moved into the house.

Like somehow moving across the state line would change things. She had started to pretend she was just a normal, bored housewife. Living in an affluent neighborhood with her absent husband. Making friends with neighbors and going to dinner parties.

But the reality of Emma's situation was that she wasn't just a normal housewife.

She was an informant for the FBI, she wore a wire in her watch. She looked over her shoulder every turn she made. And her only way out was to uncover everything about the Gold family that they wanted to know.


	7. Chapter 7

**A special thank you to my beta resident-of-storybrooke my guiding light and also to shady-swan-jones for the amazing artwork and to onceuponaprincessworld for making sure I stay on my game and get the chapters done each week :)**

 **Thanks so much for reading, much more to come. Hopefully you enjoyed and stop back next week for chapter 8 :)**

 **Have a great weekend everyone, leave kudos, comments, say hi whatever!**

Emma sat in the diner across from August, his eyes were fixated on her in a way that made her feel like she was under a microscope. She always felt that when she met with him. Like he was operating under the guise of having her back when really he just wanted to milk her dry of information.

They both knew what his aim was. She just wished he would be more direct about it.

"Why don't we start with the move to Storybrooke, how did that go?" he asked tauntingly.

"Went off without a hitch," she replied. A waitress made her way over to their table and mumbled through asking if they wanted anything to eat or drink. The TV blared some generic cop show in the background.

"I'm starved, aren't you honey?" August asked folding up the menu. Emma wasn't sure she could even swallow a French fry during one of their meetups. Especially as the normal fake couple banter started. She was never the one who started it though, she was always pretending at home. May as well let that guard down in a seedy diner.

"No." Emma pushed the menu toward the waitress and flipped her hair over her shoulder. She wasn't looking to hang around here. "I don't have an appetite."

"I will have the burger and fries, please." He smiled as he handed the waitress his menu, and Emma could tell the woman was blushing. He would be cute, Emma admitted, if he wasn't such a slimeball. "And a coffee."

"So… the move," he brought the conversation back to that when they were again alone. "Easy?"

"Yes." Emma tensed. She wrapped her red leather jacket tighter around her as if that could stop him from seeing right through her. "The house is just about in order. The neighbors are fine. The grass is green. What do you want to know?"

"You know what I'm looking for."

"I don't have it. He won't talk about the business with me." Emma leaned back.

"You're going to have to dig a little deeper with him."

"I know." Emma knew what she had to do. Especially now that Neal wanted to get married, her time was limited. The last thing she wanted was for any of it to be real and that's exactly what walking down the aisle with him would be.

A legally binding way for him to drag her down along with him.

After an hour of playing keep away at the diner, Emma drove back to her house feeling like she needed a tall glass of wine and a bubble bath. It was so taxing talking to August. So much so that more than once she had let herself slip and fall into bed with him. Which only made their discussions more uncomfortable, as if their situation wasn't complicated enough she had gone and scrambled it up by sleeping with him.

Upon walking into her house, she realized her house wasn't empty. Neal was home, which was the last thing she was expecting. Emma slowly rounded the bend into the living room, a little on edge from earlier.

He was on the couch when she came in, papers scattered all over the cushions and floor. A tumbler of brown liquid sat on the marble coffee table, mostly full. Neal was still in his work clothes, dress pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. After a few seconds he looked up at her, and Emma realized she hadn't prepared an excuse for where she had been.

"You're home." She stated, setting her purse down on the kitchen counter. Whatever he had made for dinner left a lingering smell in the room but the kitchen was immaculate. He hadn't been home for days. And despite the fact that he would probably offer no explanation for that, Emma felt guilty. "I didn't think you would be."

Emma did her best to look forlorn. Bit the inside of her mouth to induce some sort of facial expression that indicated sadness. Though truthfully it had been a breath of fresh air to be alone.

"Yeah, I stayed at my dad's," he offered. His eyes looked tired. Like he hadn't been sleeping at all where ever he was. It was then that she remembered she still had his cocaine baggie in her pocket. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Emma could not have been more surprised had he grown a second head.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, standing from his spot on the white couch. He made his way over to her and looked like the textbook definition of the word sincere. But Emma knew better now. "I just… I'm under so much stress with the company, and I needed to be alone for a few days."

"You should've called."

"I know." He stepped closer to her and she did all she could not to cringe at the proximity. She was never more repulsed by him than after a meeting with August. When she was physically reminded of just how deceitful both of them were being. In fairness though, Neal had lied first. "I just didn't want to fight."

Emma wanted to slap him, to run out the front door and never look back. But her instincts told her to stand right where she was and be the perfect partner. Be the forgiving fiancé that could turn a cheek to all of the cracks.

"It's okay," she said but what she meant was 'sorry isn't enough'. "Let's just… start over."

"Alright," Neal said back, stepping closer to her. She let him kiss her, his lips greedy and unappealing anymore. She knew what he wanted, he came back to placate her, to make sure she was still obedient just as she was being.

But his shirt smelled like perfume. So Emma busied her mind as he led her upstairs to the bedroom. For the first time ever she had allowed herself to envision it wasn't Neal whose hands were all over her, that it wasn't his lips on her skin. That a pair of deep, blue eyes stared back at her and that black hair ran through her fingers. It started as a harmless mental diversion, but by the time it was over and Emma laid unsatisfied in bed she continued to picture the enigma that was Killian Jones.

It was the first night she had slept in their bed in a week. It felt odd to be in these sheets. In the gray and white tufted bed. Neal had long been asleep beside her, though he never touched her after sex. There was rarely any cuddling. She knew what him coming home had been, he was checking in to make sure he could still have her.

The master faced the front of the house, so large bay windows took up the front wall. The high ceilings made the room feel big even in the dark and Emma wrapped her short silk robe around herself before she tip toed her way to the window seat.

Emma liked very few things about the new house. Her circumstances made it hard to find positive aspects of this place that had essentially been built to trap her. But the window seat in the bedroom was something she liked. It had light gray cushions and white pillows. And when she settled into them it felt cozy.

Neal snored in the bed not ten feet from her. She didn't plan for him to be home tonight. That was certainly a shock to come back to the house to see him in the living room. But she had done her best to act like she hadn't just come from a meeting with the man trying to take down Neal and his father. She certainly had lots of practice in doing that.

It had been almost four months since Emma started wearing a wire. And now as she stared at her empty wrist, her watch in for repairs, she could only focus on the engagement ring she still wore. It was her own private joke to wear the both of them on the same hand. The symbol of Neal's betrayal and the symbol of her own.

The ring and the watch.

All that time ago, the nasty cold month of January, Neal had asked Emma if she would take his car into the shop while he was out of town for the week. But on her way to the auto shop, a cop pulled her over.

"Ma'am are you aware this is a stolen vehicle?" the pudgy cop asked when Emma looked at him expectantly, her breath caught in her throat.

"It's what?" She was stunned. Stolen? That was impossible. She could see her breath in the air as she spoke, it had just started to snow. "No, you must be mistaken this is my fiance's car."

Emma had scrambled through the glove box, trying to find the vehicle registration only to have the cop tell her it was fake when she handed it to him. It was about 15 seconds before she was in a squad car, riding down to the police station unsure of how the fuck it could all have happened.

Emma looked out the master bedroom window onto the quiet street below. It was oddly still, quite different than looking on over her street in Boston. Here there were no sirens, there were no stumbling young drunk people, there was no traffic. Here there was just a cul de sac and not a soul was around. It was a Friday night and here she was, up in her tower, looking down on the world below. Her mind drifted to Killian Jones again, the handsome man Neal had all but dropped in her lap. She wasn't sure why she felt an urge to be close to him but it was there. And the day he had come in from the rain to stay dry only reinforced that feeling for her, she wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know what was behind those piercing blue eyes. It was dangerous.

On Willow Lane, all the lights in the houses were off and only the streetlamps were still on. A shadow lurked in the darkness and caught Emma's eye.

Emma's gaze narrowed in, trying to figure out what was going on. When her eyes focused enough she realized it was the mayor sneaking around, Regina Mills. Her dark hair masked part of her face but her gait was determined, her pace hurried. She was walking toward something. All black clothing was a far cry from her normal wardrobe of sensible pant suits.

Her purposeful walk came to a halt at the very end of the street and Emma squinted to watch as the mayor got into the passenger seat of a car. A man was in the driver's seat. She didn't recognize him, his face distinct and handsome but she knew enough to realize it wasn't her fiancé. It certainly was not Graham.

Emma knew she shouldn't continue to watch but she was curious. Especially when, right before the car pulled away, Regina and the mystery man leaned in to kiss one another. She was shocked, and looked around the rest of the street to see if anyone else was around to see what she had just seen. No one was, of course.

Emma was beginning to believe she wasn't the only one on this street hiding something big. She also knew that in order to find out she would need to be the perfect neighbor.

The next morning, Emma woke with a start. She felt disoriented being in the master bedroom. The mattress was entirely different than the one she was used to in the guest room. It was softer, comfortable. When she rolled over she was surprised to find Neal was still there. He was awake, reading the newspaper and having a cup of coffee. But nevertheless he was still there.

"You're here." Was all Emma could think to say. She couldn't remember the last time he had been next to her when she woke up. Probably back before she had started hating him.

"I figured I would take the morning off," he said looking down at her. He laid the newspaper down on his lap and turned to face her. Which was out of character for him, putting Emma on high alert.

She sat up, as if that would help the situation, and leaned her back against the stack of pillows.

"I do have some work to get done this afternoon though," he said after a few moments of silence from Emma. "I want to try to be around more."

Arms crossed over her chest, she stole a glance in Neal's direction. For a second Emma believed him. But then a newspaper headline caught her eye.

INFLUX OF DRUG USE OVERWHELMS LOCAL HOSPITALS.

"Em…" Neal said bringing her attention back up to him. "I mean it."

Of course you do, she wanted to say.

"Okay." She was so wary around him all the time. Even in a vulnerable place, like their bed, she felt like it could potentially turn to a battlefield if he suspected her for even a second. So she forced a smile. "I want to try too."

"And I wanted to ask if you had given any more thought to the idea of a wedding," he added between sips of his coffee. As if marriage was a breezy morning conversation two people could discuss after a week of not speaking.

"Neal… I…"

"I know it isn't your favorite idea, but it could be a way we could start over…. Honestly start over."

Emma's jaw tightened and her heart began to beat faster. If she didn't play this right he would ask questions, and if he asked questions something might slip. All of this could be a test of her loyalty and by giving him a straight no he could potentially figure out that Emma's motives for staying with him weren't as pure as he liked to believe.

"Alright… we can talk about it," she offered. And it was just about all her voice would let her offer. As good as she had gotten at pretending, even if it was a lie, she wouldn't say yes.

"I think, if you're planning on being home a little bit more we should have a housewarming party," Emma suggested later in the morning as Neal was getting dressed. Her mood had increased just a bit after a cup or two of coffee and she was able to focus on what she knew she needed to do to move this along.

"Like with the neighbors?" he asked, looping his tie in the mirror and securing it around his neck.

"Yeah… the neighbors, maybe your coworkers, your father."

Neal walked over to her, she was still in bed, sitting comfortably amongst the high end linens.

"I think that's a great idea." He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Just let me know what day."

As she watched him walk out of the room, and listened to him get into his car to drive off to god knows where, she let herself pretend that this was normal. That her life really was this way. That she had somehow lucked out and built herself a family after growing up without one.

When Emma got into her car later that day to go to the grocery store, she remembered back to that January day when she had lost all trust in the man that had at one point been her everything. Now every time she got into the Range Rover Neal bought her she wondered if she would get pulled over for driving a stolen vehicle again.

That day, in the police station, Emma had never felt so alone. All of the years in foster care, shuffled from family to family not wanted had not held a candle to the feeling of being in the stale interrogation room at a Boston police department. Her hands resting gently on the metal table, her feet tapping on the cement ground.

After what seemed like forever a man had walked in the room. He didn't look like a cop. His hair was dark brown and curly, his eyes a light blue. He wore a leather jacket and jeans. And had windburn under his eyes.

"Emma Swan," he said commanding. In his arm was a thick looking manila envelope and Emma had thought she was going to vomit. "I'm August Booth."

She didn't say anything back. She couldn't, she had no idea what this man was playing at. Or why she was in this position.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No," she managed over the thick layer of fear that surrounded her.

"The car you were driving was stolen," he said stepping right next to her at the table. "And when we searched it, we found this."

On top of all of the pages in the folder sat pictures. Recent prints of the car she had been driving, except it was a shell of itself. Doors opened, tires off, they had searched thoroughly.

Next to the pictures of the car were images of square looking white packages secured with tape.

"500 kg of cocaine," he said matter of factly. Emma could hardly believe what she was seeing. If that was in the car… Neal's car… and he had left town after asking her to take it to the shop then that meant….

"Emma how often does your fiancé ask you to run errands for him in this car?" August sat down in the metal chair across from her, but left the folder open for her viewing pleasure. She had been driving around with all of that.

"Sometimes…." All of the time. "He works a lot. So he's out of town most weekdays. We only have the one car."

"Where does he work that he needs to be away so much?"

"I think I should speak to a lawyer," Emma said back, it was all she could think to say. After years of watching Law and Order that was all she retained.

"Certainly." He leaned back in his chair, teetering on the legs. "But a lawyer isn't going to do much to help you. Your hands look pretty dirty with this one."

"What do you mean?"

"The car's forged registration is in your name." He moved the pictures and beneath them were the registration papers she had pulled from the glove box. Her hand went up to cover her mouth. She really might vomit. "I take it you had no clue any of this was going on."

"I swear… I didn't…."

"Lucky for you I know more about Neal Gold than you do."

Emma didn't feel right about any of it. The whole day had been such a blur, and there was so much to think about. But ultimately she walked free. They let her go under the promise that she wear a wire and help them get information about what Neal and his father were doing.

The day August put that watch on her wrist, it may as well have been handcuffs. Because that was what it felt like. She knew that Neal had been actively setting her up to take the fall for whatever his sloppy hand was up to, but she still had to go home and sleep in the same bed as him. The first night had been the worst. Two days after Emma's run in with the police, when he came home and tried to kiss her like she meant anything to him, her skin crawled. His touch burned. His words were all a lie. But she took it, all of it. Because as far as Neal knew, the car had been taken to the autobody shop. His little delivery had been made and Emma was outwardly none the wiser.

Months later and all Emma knew was that they were planning something big, that it required a lot of long hours. And that when Neal came home, if he didn't smell like a woman's perfume, he smelled like the ocean.

Killian had been working as a suburban landscaper long enough to know when there was someone watching him. He could easily sense a lingering gaze, one that was lustful and less than innocent. And right now, he was painfully aware that one of those stares was coming from a pair of green eyes that he absolutely wanted on him.

The grass in the backyard of Emma Swan's house had grown in well since he had seen her a week ago. The greenery making the space look more complete than the pile of dirt it had been the day he had been here in the rain. The last time she had invited him in. But now she was standing on the porch, her long hair flowing in loose waves. Dressed in a pale blue sundress that cinched at her narrow waist. White heels on her feet and a dainty necklace around her neck. She wasn't the only one who could stare.

It was later in the evening on Wednesday. The rest of Killian's crew had been sent home, even Will who normally stuck around with his boss chose to duck out of the beating sun. Killian wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. Dirt from his gloves had drifted onto his skin and he was certain he was absolutely covered in filth. He went to use his white t-shirt to wipe the sweat when he realized how dirty the material was. It was hardly serving any purpose, soaked through with sweat. That was when he had noticed her looking.

Emma stood, statue still on her porch. Her eyes trained on him. He thought she might pretend to be looking elsewhere, apologize and make a polite conversation to distract. But instead, as he tugged the shirt over his head a bit slower than necessary, she watched.

A warm feeling spread through him, one he knew he didn't deserve to have as he threw the shirt over toward where his keys and phone were. Killian finally dragged his eyes away from hers and resumed working. His arms straining as he shoveled manure onto what would soon be a flower bed along the fence.

Eventually he heard her walk across the porch and toward where he was working in the yard. There were no pathways yet so of course his first thought was her walking through the grass in her white shoes. Though when he looked up she didn't seem to be bothered by it, in fact it almost looked as if she were gliding.

"Hi," she said quietly as she approached. The late afternoon sun hit her hair and cast light streaks in the blonde. For the love of God when had he ever noticed things like that?

"Hi." He stood tall, despite now being shirtless and a filthy mess. The two could not be from more different worlds. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah… I uh, I wanted to talk to you about the tiles for the back."

"Ah, yes, I ordered the limestone you had requested." He shifted on his feet as her eyes shifted a bit lower than his face for a split second. "They should arrive later this week."

"Right, thank you. The old ones are still sitting in the garage. I was planning on getting rid of them but I figured I would ask first if you have any use for them?"

"Uh, I suppose I could use them for some work I have a street over."

"Alright, then I won't throw them out."

"Anything else, love?" he ventured. Though most of their conversations began with the gardening plans for her home, they usually graduated into something more. And for whatever reason that was a habit he was growing to appreciate. It could have something to do with how his heart sped up any time she was near.

"No, I uh, I'm on my way out." She looked down at her dress. The garment looked lovely on her, showing off her figure. The top cinched to frame her chest and the skirt flowing down to just above her knee. She was beautiful but as her eyes drifted back up to his he realized she looked uncertain. "My father-in-law is having us over for dinner."

"I see." And just like that he was reminded that she was untouchable. "Well you look lovely."

At first her bright green eyes widened a bit, surprised no doubt at the forwardness of his statement. But then her face softened into a genuine smile and her cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.

"Thank you," she replied. "I'll um, I'll see you on Saturday?"

"Right. Saturday." He had to be in another neighborhood for the next few days. "See you then."

Emma smiled one more time at him, one that instinct made him return instantly, before turning to walk toward the house. He watched her walk away, a slight spring in her step that hadn't been there before or maybe he was simply imagining that?

"Oh and Killian…?" she yelled back when she was halfway to the house. She had his undivided attention. "Nice tattoo."

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear, the spot that seemed to always itch when he was embarrassed. Of course, that was what she had been looking at.

The stupid Tweedy bird tattoo on his hip that poked out from where his pants hung. He chuckled. Sometimes he forgot the bloody thing was still there. Before he could redeem himself she was gone, back into her castle while he worked.

Building the princess whatever it was she wanted.

A little while later Killian decided it was far past time he head home. His stomach was growling and there wasn't much more he could do until the pathways were in. Gathering his things he headed toward the front street where his truck was parked. But just as he was about to close the gate to the backyard he overheard yelling.

"Did you ever think of asking me first?" came the sound of a familiar female voice. It sounded like it was just on the other side of the garage wall.

"I didn't think I needed to when it's me who's writing the check for the whole thing!" a male voice spat back. An odd feeling came over Killian as he listened, assuming the voices belonged to Emma and her husband.

"Neal… they're bricks. Why can't you just let me pick them? Is it so hard to let me have choices?" Emma's voice sounded desperate. Quiet, but urgent. "For fuck sake you're never home I didn't think you'd actually notice."

"Don't speak to me that way," Neal whispered back. Killian had to lean against the garage wall to hear what was going on but it wasn't good. And though it was none of his business, he was unnerved by it.

"Let go of me!" Emma quietly called. That was when Killian rounded the bend.

"Forgive me for intruding," Killian said, as pleasantly as he could watching Neal unclench his hand from Emma's wrist. "But Emma wasn't the one who made the decision about the bricks, it was me."

Neal stepped back from his wife, but Emma still appeared extremely uncomfortable. The breezy smile on her face earlier was long gone and replaced with a look of concern.

"Why would you do that?" Neal asked finally, after looking back and forth between Emma and Killian. He was just grateful he had decided to put his shirt back on before heading to his truck.

"I thought that the limestone would go better with the tilework in the pool… I'm a bit of a perfectionist."

Though it was a half-assed attempt at deflection, Neal seemed to buy it, his brow unclenching.

"I see." The man rubbed his jaw for a moment and Killian noticed he wasn't wearing a wedding band. "Well, the next time you want to take creative liberties with my yard, please don't."

Neal turned and walked into the house through the garage. But Emma stayed put. She still held her wrist in the spot where her husband had roughly grabbed her. And either it was the first time he had physically hurt her or it was the first time he had physically hurt her in public, Killian wasn't sure.

"I'm uh, sorry about that." Finally Emma spoke. And Killian waited for her to justify her husband's behavior to him, to give some sort of timid excuse as to why he had behaved that way. But she completely surprised him when instead she said, "I've met infants with better temperaments than him."

"It's alright, I should have talked to him first before ordering the stone."

"Why did you do that?" She wondered aloud, her voice curious as her head tilted slightly looking at him. Her perfect bow shaped lips forming a tight line.

"Do what?"

"Interrupt that conversation."

"I uh," he scratched behind his ear. If he said he wanted to come to her rescue he knew it was crossing a line, one he had no business dallying with. "It sounded more like a lecture than a conversation to me."

"That's just how he talks."

"You don't have to apologize for him."

"Isn't that what good wives are supposed to do?" She asked leaning up against the pallet of bricks. It was interesting to him how cool she had become in a matter of seconds. And how she didn't rush off after Neal when he stormed into the house.

"That's not something I would know." He felt tense looking at her, though he didn't want to intrude on her life he felt himself doing it anytime he was around her.

"Neither would I."

Emma pushed off the pallet and walked toward the door to get into her house, as nonchalant as if they had just had a conversation about flower beds. Her long blonde hair swaying down her back, heels clicking on the pavement. All the while leaving killian completely stunned. So she wasn't a good wife, but why was she letting him know?

The Rose and the Thorn was empty. It was a Wednesday night after all. So Killian and Will sat at the bar eating Granny's grilled cheese, chatting with Ruby and Robin who worked behind the bar to serve the handful of patrons who were there. All while Killian's mind was still wrapped around the last words Emma said to him today.

"I'd better get home," Will said when his plate was clean. "My boss is making me get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow."

"Must be a real ass," Killian joked. "Just quit."

"I would but the poor bastard would be lost without me."

"I'm sure that's true."

"Stop flirting you two," Ruby chimed in as she polished a rocks glass and stuck it on the shelf.

"Bright and early tomorrow?" Will asked one more time, as if Killian would change his mind about them needing to be on Spruce Street at 6 am for a concrete truck.

"Yes. Don't be late this time."

"I will!" he called back as he walked out of the bar. That left Killian at the bar to finish his sandwich. He had hardly touched his beer. After his last visit with his mother, he had decided to lay off the sauce for a little while.

"So, where did you run off to last night?" Killian asked Robin when Ruby had walked back into the kitchen next door. Robin's face tightened at the mention of him skipping out on trivia night. Tuesdays were just about the only night the bar was closed, so normally they would hang out together.

"I don't want to talk about it," Robin said tersely. Killian knew where his friend snuck off to, the subject that was normally so off limits.

"She's engaged to someone else, mate," Killian said. He had been trying to get his friend to steer away from the mayor for years, their affair had been going on for a long time. But tonight as the words fell from his mouth, Killian felt like a hypocrite.

"I know."

Killian said nothing else, not wanting to further fill himself with guilt for telling his friend to not fall for someone who was already taken.

"What? No lecture today?" Robin said when he realized Killian wasn't launching into his usual rant about it. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Just… not going to judge."

"Interesting…" Robin polished off the last of the glassware, a skeptical look on his face. "Are you going soft on me?"

"No." Killian opted for an onion ring instead of a sip of beer. "How did it start with you two?"

"She was lonely, I was lonely, she wandered in here. And from there it was history."

"That simple?"

"Well… no. There have been about two million road blocks since then." Robin leaned back against the cooler. It wasn't often he talked about Regina. And they certainly never mentioned her by name in public. "One of them being that her mother has been trying to arrange a marriage for her since she was 10…."

Regina Mills may have been the mayor, but everyone in town knew her mother was the one who put her there.

"Why did you keep at it?" Killian asked. Genuinely wondering for the first time how in the world those two people were able to carry on for so long. Without getting exhausted by the opposition.

"Because at the core of it, above all the bull shit there's only one thing that matters."

"What's that?" Killian wasn't sure what he was looking for. Some secret formula to being interested in someone who was forbidden. A great insight into what he was feeling and how to make sense of it without diverting to meaningless sex and alcohol.

"We love each other."

Saturday morning Killian arrived at Emma's house fairly early. He had some things to take care of before the tiles would be laid on Sunday and he wanted to take care of them alone.

The sky was overcast which made for a nice working temperature. He couldn't help but notice Emma hadn't come out to talk to him as she usually did. It wasn't the end of the world but for his fragile ego it bruised. And he hoped he hadn't overstepped his bounds too much by interrupting her conversation with her husband the other day. At the time it had simply seemed like the right thing to do.

When after an hour she still hadn't come outside, Killian settled on the idea that he wouldn't see her today. And when a few moments later he saw Emma walk outside to her car and drive away he was even more set on that notion.

After he was certain she was gone, he decided he had been careful enough around Neal Gold's home. And it was time for him to start looking for what he came here for. Evidence that this family was behind Milah's death.

Killian carefully made his way toward the house, double checking that the driveway was empty before tip toeing inside. He was sure to remove his shoes and socks, not wanting to leave behind any dirt of the immaculate white floors.

The house was exactly as it was the day Emma had invited him in to avoid the rain.

Cold. Stark. Lifeless. The only sign of warmth had been her, and she wasn't here right now.

He didn't know how long he had to look around before someone would be home. Quickly he made his way back into the office. It was smaller than he had suspected. Everything in the house so sprawling, the small office was out of character. With white built in bookshelves and a small window that revealed the front street, it almost felt homey.

Killian's eyes scanned the shelves. It was quite the collection of books. He had to assume this was Emma's doing, as was the rest of the house. The home wasn't cluttered, or personal. They weren't collectors. But the books were an exception. And he wondered what her favorite one was.

He had removed his gloves on the back porch and used his mostly clean hands to flip through the papers on the desk. Mostly bills, catalogs, last Sunday's paper, a wrist watch. Next to the lamp that sat on the surface was a small framed photo of Emma. Her blonde hair light with the sun, her green eyes striking, her smile genuine. It must have been from some time ago because there was a youthfulness… an innocence to her that wasn't there anymore.

The drawers of the desk didn't contain much. Some pens and pencils. A book of stamps. It was all so unalarming, and in fairness he wasn't sure what he was looking for when he had snuck in here. It wasn't likely he would find all of the keys to everything he wondered about his girlfriend's death in a home office.

Killian was losing hope as he overturned papers and files, coming up with absolutely nothing and feeling more stupid the longer he hunted. And after a few moments he heard a sound that didn't come from him.

"Killian…." He looked up to find Emma standing in the doorway. Her eyes wide with concern. "What are you doing in here?"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** **A special thank you to my beta resident-of-storybrooke who is an angel nugget and shady-swan-jones for the incredible artwork and onceuponaprincessworld for keeping me in check with my timeline.**

 **Somewhere in this chapter are some hints as to what my next story is about that I'm currently working on (let me know if you have any guesses)!**

 **Thanks so much for reading, more to come next week. Hopefully you enjoyed and come back for chapter 9 cause it's about to get spicy :)**

"Killian…" He looked up to find Emma standing in the doorway. Her eyes wide with concern. "What are you doing in here?"

"I… uh…" Killian was frozen in his spot. There was very little he could say to get him out of this, scratch free.

The longer he looked at her though the more he recognized her body language mirrored his own. She wasn't crossing her arms, she wasn't aggressive. It was almost as if he had been the one who walked in on her. Still though he needed to give her some sort of answer, as she was waiting in the doorway for one and it would be awfully hard to leave.

"It isn't what it looks like, I wasn't…"

"You weren't just snooping through drawers in a desk that doesn't belong to you?"

There was a lingering silence between them that was brought on by Killian's inability to decide what his next move should be. He could lie, say he had come in here to borrow a piece of paper or something trivial. He could tell her the truth about her husband and she could not believe him.

"I came in here looking for something," he said defeated.

"Like a pen?" she chimed in, and he looked at her to see her expression. She was giving him an out. A deliberate out of explaining why he was in here.

She wanted him to just say that yes, he had come in here looking for a pen. It would be easier, but it would also be a lie.

He released a giant breath, his chest tightening. "No. Not a pen."

She bit the inside corner of her lip, and crossed her arms over her chest. Now she was defensive. He hadn't taken her cues, he had blown past them. Whatever it was he couldn't force himself to be dishonest with her.

"There's a lot you don't know, Emma, about the Gold family," he started and her eyes widened a bit just before going back to normal. If he wasn't so in tune with her features now he would've missed it.

"I think you should go," she said with a finality that indicated she wasn't just talking about today.

"Emma… I didn't mean to cause you any issues." It was on the tip of his tongue, why couldn't he just say it? Why couldn't he just tell her that her husband wasn't who she thought he was? "I'm sorry."

"Please send someone else to the house this week," she said dully. She held the door open for him as if he were a child being sent in for punishment.

"Sure," he said, turning to look at her one last time. Emma had that look on her face again, the fear and confusion he had seen on her face before. The expression that almost directly called out for help, but he understood that right now he was part of the problem. He was now on the list of people who had hurt her, whether he was trying to or not, he had hurt her.

Emma closed the back door, a bit harder than was necessary. He got the message loud and clear, stay out.

That night, Killian laid in his bed staring at the ceiling. The popcorn plaster that dated the room. He had always talked about remodeling the place with Liam. But then when his brother died, any talk of that ceased. Then when Milah was alive and living with him, the conversation had come up again. In reference to the future the two thought they had together but never materialized.

Now he was alone. He left the windows open so the fresh air could come in. It was something he loved about living all the way out here in the middle of nowhere, there was no chatter. No excess noise, it was the quietest quiet. Only the sounds of nature could be heard. There was a time where that level of solitude was too much for him.

It was why he had spent so much time at the bar after Liam died. He would be alright during the day, but at night he needed to drown everything out. The quiet used to be a scary place, but tonight it was just what he needed. Which was why he opted out of his usual spot on a barstool for a night in his own home. In his own bed. Alone.

Killian had been perplexed by Emma Swan since he met her. She was somehow fragile and strong. Vulnerable but closed off. Quiet but deliberate. And he wasn't sure if she was privy to all of the things her husband was up to. But now he knew, she was aware.

The way that she had given him an opportunity to not say why he was in their home without anyone being there. The way she had almost looked disappointed when he chose not to take the handout. She knew about Neal, but what he couldn't picture was her being the type to turn a blind eye.

When Killian had walked in on their conversation in the garage, when he had watched the way Neal latched onto Emma's arm, it wasn't the type of loving embrace a husband should have toward his wife. It possessive and unwarranted and it made Killian's skin crawl as he thought of it now.

Emma Swan was a lot of things, clearly she occupied his thoughts late into the night, but she did not seem the type to be on board with what her husband was up to.

So what was she doing with him?

On Sunday morning he forced himself out of bed to make the trek to visit his mum. Despite not having had a single drop of alcohol the night before he still felt like garbage. He looked on toward the barbed wire guarded complex he had been visiting for years. The long hours spent in the visiting room the only time he had spent with his mother since he was twelve years old. And with each trip here he found himself wondering if he would ever see her outside again. Sure she would make parole someday, she didn't have a life sentence, but it sure seemed like she did.

Killian watched the guards lingering in every corner. Pacing casually with their tasers and guns, patrolling the perimeter. The prison was in a rural area, far from any bustling towns. So all around the complex were trees and grass, none of it the perfectly manicured kind he was used to doing for work. All of it fairly natural and lush from all of the rain they had been getting. It would be May soon and what was that saying about April showers?

Killian took a few moments to gather himself, as he usually did before he walked through the prison doors. He had showered that morning but he hadn't slept well the night before so there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair still seemed unkempt. He hadn't shaved for a few days so his beard was overgrown. His mum would certainly comment on that, she usually did.

He ran his hand over his jaw, the beard just the right length to be prickly. Liam could never grow one and constantly mocked him for how quickly his hair grew. His brother was always the less serious of the two, and was easy to laugh.

Getting out of his truck the air was brisk, he slid a coat onto his shoulders and began his walk toward the door. Coming out of the building though was a familiar looking woman. She was dressed in white tailored pants and a blouse, brown hair piled high on top of her head and as Killian's eyes traveled to her face he realized who it was.

Cora Mills.

He wasn't sure why but his first instinct was to stay out of sight. He ducked behind a cluster of cars and watched as Cora made her way to what he knew was her Mercedes in the parking lot. She threw her expensive looking bag into the passenger seat and drove off quickly. What was she doing here? Perhaps some sort of volunteer work? But why would she drive two hours to do it? And wouldn't a volunteer not be wearing heels and a tailored outfit? Why was she in such a hurry to leave?

Once he was certain she was gone he resumed his walk toward the door. But as he crossed into the waiting room and then to the visitation room where he sat with his mum for a few hours, his mind continued to go back to seeing Cora Mills. It sent a shiver up his spine, and not in the good way. In fact the more he thought about her being there the more on edge he became.

A week went by before he saw Cora Mills again. This time though he was expecting her. He was doing some work at the mayor's house and as per usual it wasn't long before her mother wandered out to talk to him.

"Can I offer you some water, or lemonade?" Cora's smooth voice came from behind. Killian turned around to find her standing on the brick walkway that led to the front door. Dressed not unlike when he had seen her at the prison.

"Water would be great if you have it," he said. As much as he was wary around her, it was hot outside and he had been working all morning. He was absolutely covered in sweat and dirt.

"Coming right up," she said.

"Hi Killian!" another voice sounded from the path. He turned again to see that Henry had replaced where his grandmother was standing. The lad was in athletic shorts and a bright red jersey, his knee caps bruised and grass stained. Presumably coming from one of his soccer games.

"Hello Henry." Killian set down the shovel. "Did you win this morning?"

"Yeah, 3 to 1 against the lightning," the little boy said between bites of his apple.

"Excellent." Killian smiled. As much as he really didn't want to be a part of this world, this suburban nightmare, when he saw a young kid like Henry he softened to it. Because Henry had the kind of life every kid should, where the biggest issue he had to worry about was soccer games and the ice cream truck. "When's the next one?"

"Tuesday! You should come."

"Nah, you don't want me there. I'm just an old man."

"You're not that old."

"Henry… go inside and wash mother and I need to be across the street in an hour." Cora had returned, and in her hand was a tray with a pitcher and two glasses. She poured the ice water in and handed him one of the cups with a tight lipped smile. The boy scurried into the house, his cleats squeaking on the hardwood floors before the door slammed shut. "The new neighbors are having a housewarming party."

"Ah, I see," Killian said taking a sip, trying not to wince at the mention of Emma and her husband as one entity. It had been a week since he had been to her house. Currently Will and some others were working around the Gold house. The last thing Killian wanted to do was test Emma's boundaries when she had specifically asked him not to come back. As much as he wanted answers about that family, he also had a level of trepidation when it came to Emma.

"The yard's really coming together over there," Cora said pouring herself a glass of water and sitting down on the bench that was on the porch. While she micromanaged everything Killian did at the Mills house, she never really lingered.

"Just doing my job," Killian said, setting the glass down and resuming his work. He heaved some fertilizer onto the flower beds around the front of the house.

"You've done a lot of great work," she said shifting in the seat. "I remember all of those years ago when you and your brother were just getting started."

Killian was on edge, and as much as he was grateful for all that Cora had provided him it still felt weird that she had brought up his brother. It wasn't usually a subject people breeched with him though everyone knew about it. Much like his parents, Killian had always been known for his family's baggage.

"Well we didn't have much of a choice," Killian looked over at Cora. She had a way about her that made her come across better than anyone around her. He knew a lot of that probably had to do with the Mills dynasty. The fact that the family had control over the town, the schools and now the police force. "Yours was the first house he worked on."

"And now you've managed to do every yard in this neighborhood."

"Aye, that I have."

"It's a shame he isn't around to see it," she said as she stood from her seat. Killian still watched her, his thoughts always shifting back to seeing her at the prison. What was she doing there? Should he just ask? What was he so worried about? "I'm sure your parents are proud."

Killian's head tilted, looking over at Cora who had an interesting look on her face at the mention of his parents. She very well knew his father was dead, and exactly how he had died. It was just an odd choice of words. Which she didn't elaborate on before heading into the house.

Now he was alone again, pondering the perplexing exchange he had just had with Cora. Looking around the cul de sac he realized he had done all of the outdoor work at each of those houses. He had worked with Mary Margaret and David to craft a casual yard that they filled with knick knacks and flowers. He had hand laid each and every brick on Zelena's Mill's pathways throughout her property, and helped design the set up for the twins playhouse. He continued to do all of the vegetable garden next door at Granny's which allowed her to have fresh vegetables all the time.

Then there was the Gold house. It was coming along, looking more like a home than a construction project. The front porch had teak wood furniture on it, the limestone paths had been laid, the edging for the flower beds had been done and a row of shrubs lined the walkways.

Though he hadn't spent any time at the house in a week, he managed from afar. Ensuring he was in the neighborhood when any work was being done. He hadn't seen Emma yet though. She had all but disappeared as the house came together around her. That was until right now.

The front door opened and she walked out carrying a few jars of flowers. Carefully she placed them on the tables next to the plush cushioned seats, fluffing a few. His eyes lingered on her, though he knew he should look away he couldn't. She was so graceful in all she did. Her long blonde hair was wavy and hung down her back. She wore high black shoes and a white dress that cut just below the knee showing off her curves.

Never was it more clear that they were from different worlds than in that moment. When she was dressed so elegantly, like a doll, and here he was covered in dirt, shoveling fertilizer into the flower beds of the upper class. After Emma finished setting up the cushions she didn't run back into the house though, instead she sat down in one of the chairs and took a shoe off. The spiked black thing falling to the side as she massaged her ankle.

As quickly as she had sat down though, her husband emerged from inside the house and began talking to her. And Killian was on alert to his body language… if he so much as laid a hand on her Killian knew he would run over there and intervene. He could feel it as the adrenaline pumped through him. But the two on the porch treaded lightly. There was no touching, no loving looks. It was a conversation, one that looked almost businesslike. Like they were two actors, getting ready for a big scene on opening night.

"Something interesting over there?" said Ruby. Killian had hardly noticed his friend had approached. "Don't stop on my account."

"Where are you going?" he asked looking at his friend. Her dark hair was curled and up, she wore a deep red dress.

"Their housewarming." Ruby pulled a tube of glass from her purse. What kind of formal event was this? "You weren't invited?"

"Do I look like I was invited?" Killian gestured toward his dirt covered body.

"That's a bit surprising."

"Why do you say that?" He stuffed the shovel into the pile of dirt perhaps a bit harder than he needed to, but this conversation was also not one he was thrilled to be having.

"I thought she liked you."

Killian looked back up at Ruby, she was innocent enough as she said it. He didn't think she meant anything serious.

"I work for her."

"So you say…"

"What? Spit it out."

"She told me that you told her about your family."

He shifted uncomfortably.

"Killian…" Ruby took a step closer to him, her face ridden with concern. They had been friends a long time. She was one of the few people who knew the whole cast of characters. So it would be hard to convince her of anything she was suspicious of. "If there's anything going on with you two…"

"Ruby, she's married."

"I know but you never talk about yourself."

"She's just easy to talk to."

"That and you haven't stopped looking over at her since she walked out there."

"What exactly are you implying?" Killian was feeling defensive. Not only because Ruby's comment was out of line but more so it was right.

"You haven't looked at anyone that way since…"

"I'm not talking about this with you."

"It was only an observation," Ruby said softer. She was a good friend of his, and his defenses were his own issue, not to be taken out on her.

"I know, I snapped a bit. I'm sorry." He felt his shoulders relax a bit. Killian had always been wound tight, but over the past few years with losing his brother and his love, he had a harder time being easy breezy.

"Don't worry about it." She smiled, her red lips around her pearl white teeth. "I'm sure it'll be super boring. I'm only going because Granny's making me."

"Not your idea of a Saturday night?" Killian smirked, knowing full well Ruby liked to spend her Saturdays at The Rose and Thorn almost as much as he did.

"Not even close." She pulled a tube of lipstick out of her purse and reapplied. The blood red shade a perfect match for her dress. "I'll see you later?"

"See you later, Red," he said waving goodbye to Ruby. He watched as she walked to grab her Granny from the sidewalk and together the two made their way to the Gold house.

As their guests approached Killian watched the shift in Emma and Neal, like a sensor had gone off. All of a sudden they were the loving husband and wife. Greeting all who entered with that newlywed glow. Killian was watching a stage performance, and the director had just called for action.

Emma had spent the last week preparing for the housewarming party. It had all been her idea, suggesting it to Neal in hopes that it would urge him to be around more. God knew she needed him around more. The time was ticking, quite literally, on the wired watch on her wrist that August had replaced. Each tick of the watch taunted her as she stood in line at the grocery store, or when she was putting away laundry or doing yoga on the porch.

The gentle reminder that the longer she stayed entrenched in this life with Neal the more likely it would be that she would get caught in the crossfire.

Planning the housewarming also served as a nice distraction from the fact that she hadn't seen Killian Jones since she caught him snooping around their house when he thought she was gone.

That was certainly not something she had wanted to dwell on, but she couldn't help it.

It was so odd. She had left to visit Neal at his office, he had claimed to be working on a Saturday and Emma just had to go see how true that was. But after she was halfway there she realized she didn't have her watch, she had left it at home. And what was the point of spending an afternoon pretending to be interested in Neal's work when she wasn't wearing a wire?

When she walked back into her house she felt that something was off, someone was in there. Much to her surprise it was Killian, caught looking through every drawer in the office. When he had absolutely no business being there.

Honestly though when she walked into the office, it had felt a little like they had both been caught.

He could have lied to her, he could have just went along and said that he had walked in for some stupid thing. A piece of paper. A pen. A stapler. Anything. But he didn't, he was about to tell her why he had been in the house looking around. Killian was about to tell her some awful secret about the family she had 'married' into.

Which was why she cut him off. The watch had been sitting right on the desk, it had been out and listening to their conversation that day. Ready to record the big reveal as to why Killian had been in the office. The big smoking gun about the Gold family that he wanted to uncover. And for whatever reason, Emma didn't want August or his team to know anything about Killian Jones.

So she made him leave. Told him to get out. To not come back. To send someone else to do the landscaping. And he had done all of those things.

Then why was she still so conflicted?

Sure she wondered what he would have said to her that day. His real explanation. But what if her suspicions were dead wrong? What if instead of being against Neal as she thought, he was really on his team?

After Killian had left, Emma threw herself into party planning. Which sounded stupid and small but it was one of the few things she had to cling to.

On Sunday she invited everyone. Carefully crafting elegant invitations to give to everyone with Mary Margaret, who had amazing handwriting and made for excellent company while delivering the envelopes.

On Monday she had the floors and linens professionally cleaned. Though they weren't really in need of it, they weren't used all that often.

On Tuesday the furniture for the front porch arrived and she spent the better part of the afternoon putting together the teak wood chairs and tables. All the while avoiding catching a glimpse at Killian Jones who was working across the street.

On Wednesday she met with the caterer to go over the menu for the party. Ensuring that all dietary needs were met and that she had a final headcount.

On Thursday she went for a two hour run because she needed to hang on to one of the only pieces of herself that still existed.

On Friday she drove to The Rose and Thorn, late. Emma had watched from her parked car as group after group walked in. She knew Killian would be there, Ruby told her. But she couldn't force herself to get out of the car.

So after twenty minutes of trying to hype herself up to talk to Killian, she put the car in drive and went back to her house. Her empty house where she slept alone until two in the morning when Neal finally stumbled home.

Now it was Saturday. The day of the party. There was a lot to do. The flowers were arriving, the landscaping was far from done but it was passable for the night. The food would be here, the bartender would be setting up at 5. Emma had to pick up her dress from the tailor and somehow put on a strong front for all of the guests.

The house was quiet for the moment, as Emma sipped on her steaming cup of coffee. She was on the front porch. If there was anything good that came from throwing herself into being the perfect hostess, it was the furniture had arrived and was put together. She had gone for a run and was cooling off before heading inside. And Emma felt herself start to study the people around her. The neighbors as they went about their morning none the wiser to her gaze.

Ever since Neal had betrayed her, still continued to do so, she watched people more carefully. Now she was doing it with her neighbors, which was half the reason she was organizing some sham of a party tonight. The other half being because if she was going to get away from Neal, she would first have to get closer. To convince him that she was loyal, that there was no reason he couldn't be liberal with his goings on around her.

Emma stood in her closet getting ready, putting the finishing touches on her outfit. She had curled and sprayed her hair. Painted and prettied her face. Her diamond ring rested on her finger, along with her watch and some gold bracelets. She had slipped into a white lace dress with a high neck and below the knee hem. It was symbolic for her.

Neal wanted the dotting wife he would get her. But not forever. And most certainly not for real.

After the guests had arrived, Emma felt herself more on edge. All of the neighbors had come, as well as people who allegedly worked for Neal and then there was his father. Who wandered in very late and without making any apologies.

"Emma, you look quite nice," Neal's father said with an air of condescension to it. Emma forced a smile, sure that her face was tight. He was always terse with her, like he wanted to say more than he did.

"Thanks." She led him into the kitchen and living room where everyone was. The bar was set up to the right of the door, a handsome young man offering beer or wine. "Would you like something to drink?"

"That's alright, I like to keep my wits about me at these things."

Emma shook off that comment, not wanting to ask him to elaborate on it. She had met Neal's father years ago, back when they didn't get along, and she hated him. At the time Neal had felt the same way, but now they were working together. The father and son building a town of overpriced housing complexes and strip malls to be used by the masses. It had certainly afforded the Gold's a luxurious lifestyle. Second to the Mills, Emma lived in the largest house in the neighborhood.

Gold found his way over to a group of people he knew, leaving Emma standing in the doorway to the kitchen. There was a clear divide of people in the room. The group of people who were held to a high standard in the community, the Mills, Neal and his father, their business partners, the Chief of Police, other neighbors from other streets just as prominent, they were all clumped together to the right. Toward the living room they stood holding flutes of champagne handed out by cater waiters.

To the left were the people Emma actually liked. Mary Margaret and David who were at the center of it all, gathered around the middle of the kitchen. Ruby and her grandmother were there as well, talking with Tink and her date. Emma was just glad she hadn't brought Killian. Not because she didn't want to see him, more so because she didn't want to see him with someone else.

"Emma!" She heard Neal call for her just as she was about to talk to her friends. She gave them an apologetic smile and walked over to the man who was supposed to be her husband. Who was also very drunk. "Where have you been?"

"Just checking on a few things," she muttered trying not to grow annoyed. Had he become even more drunk since she had last talked to him 5 minutes ago?

"You should stay close to this one he can hardly stand up without you," Graham said jokingly. Emma looked at him a little longer than she should have, he was handsome, but the way his arm rested around Regina's waist made Emma's stomach turn. After what she had seen the other night, she knew there was more to that couple than laid at the surface.

There were probably a lot of people in this room who had more going on in their lives than they led on, Emma certainly did.

She brought her glass of champagne up to her lips and sipped demurely, careful not to give away her pure annoyance at Neal for getting so drunk so quickly. Leaving her to play host while also ensuring he didn't completely humiliate himself.

Emma's eyes caught sight of Neal's father out of the corner of his eye, who had stepped away from the group quietly to talk to someone. Upon further inspection Emma noted that it was Cora Mills. The woman who was an older version of her politically charged daughter, but looked nothing like her other. Emma was still trying to figure out the Zelena, Regina, Cora dynamic but all she could gather so far was that they loved making passive aggressive comments about one another.

Like right now when Regina grabbed another mini crab cake off the tray and her sister eyed it as if it were a disease.

Sometimes Emma was grateful she didn't have siblings.

A while later Emma had managed to sneak some time with the people she liked being around. Mary Margaret and David and Ruby and Tink were lovely people who somehow managed to keep Emma's mood afloat in this crowd of people. The conversation flowed easily with them, and as she watched how David was with Mary Margaret, Emma noted that the two of them were as natural together as they were apart. There was a chemistry between them, an ease of being together, a loving gaze in their eyes. Emma had resigned herself to not ever falling that deeply in love with someone. But looking at the two of them, her heart felt for it and wanted it.

"I'll be right back," Emma said politely dismissing herself from the circle of people she was beginning to call friends. Carefully making her way through the crowd of people to go to the bathroom. She had been forcing herself to remain calm all night when really all she wanted was to scream into a pillow.

Emma checked herself in the mirror. Her make up was still intact, her hair still curled. She smoothed the front of the dress as if that would somehow make her less suffocated.

It felt like an old movie, one that took place in a time where dinner parties and people made small talk about their lives. So idyllic it could almost be in black and white.

Neal was on the front porch with some others, smoking cigars and probably attempting to solve the problems of the universe in their drunken stupor. Emma could hear his voice from the bathroom and decided that not even water could help him now.

Leaving the bathroom, Emma ran right into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Emma said automatically. Though she was sure it wasn't her fault. "Cora…"

"It's quite alright." The woman's smooth voice struck Emma. It wasn't the usual polite, cool tone she had. "Can't leave your guests waiting too long."

Emma's posture went rigid, feeling like she was under a microscope. The woman's brown eyes scanning her up and down. So close she could smell her perfume. Neal's cackle echoed in the hall, and Cora's lips cracked into an ingenuine smile.

"You don't want to leave him waiting too long either," Cora said, brushing past her and closing the bathroom door. Emma had never felt so uneasy in the presence of someone, until just then.

Even after Cora was out of sight, Emma was still frozen in her spot.

"Hey, we're um headed out for a drink if you want to come," Ruby said as she helped Emma throw away some cocktail napkins. The party had winded down, Neal retired to the bedroom too drunk to even be around people anymore. Most of the guests had gone, save for the people Emma liked, who were helping her clean up the mess.

"I don't know… I should get this cleaned up," Emma said. The caterers had taken most of the big stuff but there were a ton of other things that would need to be tidied.

"It's mostly done, Em, just a drink or two. We'll drive," David offered as he threw more garbage into a black trash bag. Emma looked around, it wasn't terribly messy. And to be honest the last thing she wanted to do was go up to lay in an empty bed, overthinking everything that had happened.

"Come on, itll be fine." Tink wiped down the last of the counters with a rag, her green dress swaying as she walked over to Emma. "You can't spend the rest of the night cooped up when you look that pretty."

"Alright… just for a little."

Had always been Emma's famous last words.

The Rose and the Thorn was a place Emma hadn't been inside of yet. But right now, standing in the crowded bar, she felt like she had gotten herself in way over her head. She knew what she was doing. She knew there was a chance Killian would be here.

The space was packed and dark and warm. All of downtown Storybrooke usually was on weekends. Emma hadn't been in a dingy bar like this in years, they used to be her favorite place. However right now in her white lace dress and pumps she felt out of place.

"What do you want, Emma?" Ruby asked her from behind the bar.

"Vodka soda!" she called back.

"How about a beer?" Ruby yelled, already pouring the drink. The bar was five deep and Emma had just barely made her way to the front of the crowd with Mary Margaret.

"David has a booth in the back, we can get a few pitchers and go find them," Mary Margaret yelled in Emma's ear. Ruby slid two pitchers along the chipped wood bar and smiled at the man next to her. He was handsome, dark ash colored hair and a bright smile. Robin. Emma had learned that was his name, and for whatever reason she felt she had seen him before.

Emma grabbed one of the pitchers of blonde colored beer and followed Mary Margaret back toward where the booths and darts were. Ruby had beat them there, swinging into a seat near David. Also at the table was a man Emma recognized as Will, the one Killian had sent to work on her yard all week. He gave her a polite wave with a sparkle in his eye and she waved back. If he knew anything about why Killian had been absent from her house all week he gave no indication. Tink was near Ruby, cozying up to some guy Emma had never seen.

Then there he was. Killian Jones. Standing in the corner, talking to some gorgeous looking girl with long dark hair. His black hair was slicked back, his beard longer than usual. His eyes a watery blue brought out by the pale color of his sweater. Emma couldn't move. It felt like her feet were rooted in the spot, and before her brain could connect to tell her legs to move Killian's eyes found hers.

For just one second they were the only two in the room.

All of the noise around them dissipated.

"Emma," he said. "I…"

"It's okay," she replied calmly. The girl next to Killian was glaring at her. Emma didn't mind. "Can we talk?"

"Sure."

Emma didn't bother to look at the other's reactions, she couldn't. Because she knew what this looked like to them. She knew they all had their suspicions. But she needed to talk to Killian, and she had done enough avoiding of him. If he could help her get closer to what August Booth needed, then she could be free.

She was unsure of where she was walking, but she knew it was getting quieter and she also felt Killian trailing behind her. She felt the skin of her bare wrist, she had removed her watch. This wasn't a conversation she wanted recorded. A dim hallway near a supply closet seemed to be the safest place for them to talk, so Emma spun around to face him.

And as she did he walked right into her. But unlike earlier with Cora, neither of them immediately pulled away. She let his hands linger where they were resting on her forearms. He let their faces be within inches of each other. The air around them was charged and there was a tension between the two that polarized the tiny hallway. For just a second she let herself pretend her life wasn't so complicated, and that they were just two people who had met in the city on a Friday night.

"I never, um, expected to see you here." Were the first words out of his mouth when he took a few steps back from her. His fingers had left her skin, but she still felt them there.

"I didn't exactly plan it this way…" Emma looked down at her outfit. A stark contrast from the dim bar. "Obviously."

"Listen, Emma, what happened last week it was completely out of line. I should have never set foot in your home without your permission. I'm sorry." His eyes were sincere, the deepest blue she had ever seen them.

"Why were you in there?" she asked. Less accusatory than the last time. He ran his hand along his jaw, his angular, sculpted jaw. Killian's gaze lingered on a mop bucket in the corner, clearly weighing his options for what to say.

"I wish I had a simple answer for you, but I don't." His eyes focusing on her again. "I have my reasons to believe that your father in law may have been behind the death of someone I cared very much for."

Emma's head tilted as she looked up at him.

"I was looking for literally anything that would give me that answer."

"Why do you think he's behind it?"

"Because the Gold family has a lot of pull in this town, and I happen to think they're up to a lot more than construction."

"They are," Emma said without thinking. She felt her back lean against the wall. She felt so frustrated anymore. And to finally say out loud that something was up with her husband and his family, it was freeing. Like a rod had been taken out of her spine and she could bend again. Her head dropped to stare at her feet on the concrete floor. "I just wish I knew what."

Killian's hand extended toward her chin, tilting her face up to lock eyes with his. It surprised her, how comfortable she was with his touch. The way her skin tingled at the graze of his. There was a lightness in him that wasn't always there. A relief that he probably recognized in her. His dark brows had relaxed and his face wasn't tense.

"Perhaps that's something we can figure out together, love."

Emma knew they both weren't being entirely transparent. A lot had been left unsaid. But what she did know was they were being as honest as they could be.

For now.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** **I would just like to take a swift moment to give a shout out to my wonderful beta resident_of_storybrooke as well as shady-swan-jones for the incredible story art and of course onceuponaprincessworld for keeping me updating once a week!**

 **Hope it acts as a nice little glimpse at what's to come and that you all are having excellent weekends. Thank you so much for reading and commenting and sharing. This is such a wonderful outlet for me and you've all made it a safe space for me to try my hand at writing.**

 **So thank you all, and hopefully you enjoy! :)**

Killian's hand lingered on Emma's chin way longer than was appropriate. He could hardly force himself to care for a moment, her skin was soft and warm. Even though it was just the grasp of his fingers it felt right. Her green eyes sparkled as she looked up at him expectantly, like he could be someone she could lean on just a bit. However he got the impression that Emma wasn't exactly someone who turned to others for support which made the moment all the more monumental.

The music and chatter from the bar blared, making its way toward the back corner where they were. Killian had only ever been back here once, and he could hardly remember it. His days as a bachelor were riddled with stories he could barely recall. And he never wanted to be back in that place again.

Along with the noise from the other room, something else wandered toward them. Or rather, someone. A young man and woman clearly in the throes of something very passionate as it took almost no time for them to begin kissing up against a wall not ten feet from where Killian and Emma were.

It was sloppy and hurried and far too private for them to be anywhere near.

But when he looked back at Emma he realized her eyes were glazed over in awe of the couple. She was so beautiful, he thought as his eyes lingered on her. But she didn't look like she belonged in this bar. She had a poise about her that suggested she was above it all, not intentionally or in a bad way. Just somehow other worldly. Like she could be a painting instead.

"Why don't we go somewhere more private?" he offered drawing Emma's attention back to him. She looked startled, as if she had just been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be.

"Yeah, yeah, sounds good," she replied hurriedly. Killian raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if the flush on her cheeks had always been there. "I'm good, let's go."

Once upstairs, Killian closed the door to the small studio apartment he had once called home. But this was the first time he had been here and wasn't smashed drunk. He watched Emma look around in the dim light of the singular lamp, she wasn't timid about it either. The way her eyes dragged over every surface. The plank wood floor. The sparse furnishings. The neatly made bed. He hadn't used it in a few weeks, the last time he brought someone back here he woke up to find Emma downstairs in the diner.

"Is this where you live?" she asked crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, uh, it's not," he stepped toward the small kitchen and opened the fridge. All that remained inside were a six pack of beer and a half stick of butter. Back when he did live here this would have been considered full. He held up one of the unopened bottles. "Care for a drink?"

"Got anything stronger?"

"Let me see." He dug around in the few cabinets that were in the kitchen, if one could even call it that. The builder's grade cabinets took up one wall and had most likely been there since the bar was built. There was virtually no counter space, most of it taken up by a sink and a hot plate.

But he was able to find an old half consumed bottle of whiskey and some glasses.

Killian rinsed the glasses in the sink, unsure of how long they had been there. When he turned to give Emma her drink she had sat on the edge of the bed. Her back straight, her white lace dress clinging tightly to her body. Her mane of blonde hair framed her face, her green eyes striking.

"Here, love," he handed her the glass and she tilted it back into her throat in one go. Quite impressive, Killian wasn't sure he was capable of the same.

"Thanks," she said wiping a bit of the whiskey from the corner of her lip. Their plump bow shape painted in a subtle pink. "Quite the turn of events."

"Yeah," he said, grabbing the bottle and pouring her another drink. This time she only sipped and he sat down a few feet away from her on the bed. Outside the window he could hear the crowd below. People making their way through the streets for a Saturday night out. "I know it's not the kind of place you're accustomed to but I'm afraid it's the most convenient for now."

"Believe it or not there was a time when I lived in an apartment just like this," she said. Though he couldn't tell by looking at her, Emma was like a doll almost when she sat still like this. Her posture so poised and her skin as smooth as porcelain. Even with her sitting in the room he couldn't picture her in an apartment that resembled his old one.

"Must have been a lifetime ago," Killian muttered, taking down his drink and pouring himself another. Emma was watching him, he could feel it on his skin.

"I grew up with nothing," she started, running her finger along the rim of the glass. "And when I first met Neal we had nothing."

Killian remained still, thinking that if he moved she would realize how crazy this was.

"I never knew his father had so much money until one day he showed up at the door asking for his son. Neal wasn't home at the time so his father stayed and we had a chat where I learned who exactly he was and that he had been cut off financially until he got serious." She sipped the drink again, her lips leaving a mark on the rim. "I should have known then."

"Known what?"

"Known that he couldn't be trusted when someone else had to tell me the truth about him." She looked down for a moment, away from Killian, and twisted the diamond ring on her finger.

He couldn't help but wonder all of the things she had to turn away from the marry that man.

"I was young and in love, people do stupid things when they're in love."

"Are you still?" he had to ask. Even though he wanted to take it back immediately. They weren't here to discuss emotions, but he selfishly wanted to know.

A noticeable pause lingered in the air before she answered.

"No," said Emma. "No, I am not."

"When did you know you weren't anymore?"

"He went too far. I was content to move here with him, to attempt to have the family and the life I always wanted growing up… but… he set me up."

"He what?" Killian couldn't exactly disguise his concern. "Emma if you're in any kind of trouble…."

"No, it's… I'm not in any trouble. At least for now."

"How do you even look at him?"

"I have no choice." She shifted her body and faced him. They were awfully close now. Less than a foot apart. If he moved his leg just a bit it would be resting next to hers. "I'm trapped, which I suppose is what he always wanted."

"Emma…" he reached up and brushed his thumb beneath her eye where a single tear had fallen. As if catching it could undo the reason why she was tearing up. Her cheek was warm, flushing a pale pink beneath his touch. "There's no need to feel like you're alone."

"This is weird," she said abruptly standing up. But she didn't leave, she just walked toward the window. The light from outside caught the side of her face, where a stream of black came from her eye. "We hardly know each other."

"Don't we?"

"Well, it's just…" she turned back to him and had calmed a bit. "I've never talked to anyone about this before."

"Neither have I." He stayed put, not wanting to make her feel threatened.

"How exactly are you involved in all of this?"

"It's relatively complicated," he said standing up. Dredging up his past wasn't something he often did in front of anyone. To talk about Milah, to say her name even in front of anyone else had been difficult for a long while after her death. And this conversation probably required more whiskey. "My girlfriend… well she has since passed away but a few years ago she died."

He poured the drink, topping off Emma as well who was now leaned up against the kitchen cabinets, her legs crossed one over the other as if this were a casual conversation about weather.

"She had her share of issues, demons she was fighting. Her official cause of death was an overdose but… the circumstances surrounding her death were quite suspect."

"Killian I'm so sorry…"

"She was an addict, that much I am certain. But I find it hard to believe that there wasn't more to it than that. Especially when I found out later that she had been dealing."

"You think someone killed her?"

"Aye, I think she got herself in too deep with your husband's family."

"So you're saying that they're also responsible for some sort of drug dealing?"

Killian hesitated for a moment. He had never indicated it out loud before, never told anyone that he thought Milah's death wasn't an accident.

"Yes. And they're using the construction business as a front."

Emma didn't say anything for a while, using the sharp sting of alcohol to swallow the lump in her throat. When she placed her glass on the counter, her face looked tense. Tight. Unsure of what she was about to say.

"He's not the person I once thought that he was," she finally said. "I don't believe a word of anything that comes out of his mouth. He never comes home, and if he does he smells like booze and perfume."

How anyone could step out on her Killian hadn't the slightest clue.

"I don't know exactly what he and his father are up to, I wish I had a real answer. But I don't, and

I won't fake one."

"I would never expect you to, love."

"I do know that there is something going on. That something isn't right. One time I…"

She trailed off. Not finishing what she had started to say.

"Emma what is it?" he tried to say as softly as he could.

"One time I… well something happened a few months ago before we moved here. I had his car and there was, well there was…"

He waited for her to finish, he wouldn't force her if she didn't want to talk about it. Bearing in mind she still had a ring on her finger and was still married to this person.

"There was quite a bit of cocaine in the car." She twiddled her manicured fingers together. "He was setting me up."

"He was what?" Now Killian had raised his voice, his calm demeanor shifting at the thought of her getting caught in this.

"I can't get into the details of it, not right now anyways, the depth that it spans but I can tell you that whatever they're doing, they're most certainly using that business as a front for something bigger."

He had never seen her so anxious, so on edge about anything. Even when he had walked in on she and Neal having that tense conversation in the garage she hadn't come across this nervous. As much as Killian felt vindicated to know that his suspicions were right, he hated that she felt this way at all. Hated that this conversation even had to happen.

"Emma…"

"I'm sorry…" quickly she pulled herself together. Instantly the wall was back. "I have no idea when I became this person."

"What kind of person is that?" It was an odd thing to say, as if the Emma before him was entirely different entity.

"The kind who stays in a woe is me situation."

"Emma, I never wanted to upset you by talking," he offered. "I know it all sounds like an unbelievable stretch but…."

"It doesn't sound so unbelievable to me."

"No?"

"No," Emma shifted a bit, turning toward him. Even in her high heeled shoes she was still about a head shorter than he was. "I stopped believing the best in people a long time ago."

"Not everyone is bad."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked with genuine curiosity, she wasn't lying when she said she had lost faith in the human race.

"Because if you truly believed that, then why would you have trusted me?"

Emma pondered that for a moment, as if this was the first moment she had just realized that the two of them were tucked away in a room together baring secrets they hadn't shared with anyone before.

"I don't know why I do," she finally said. Her eyes weren't focused on him, they looked beyond at the wall. "Why do you trust me?"

"I can't describe it, I just have this feeling I can."

"It's not something I often do," she said stepping toward him, the air between them growing thick the closer they got. Every sound in the room was tuned out, all he heard was the sound of his heart speeding up. "And I feel like you're the same."

"Aye. We're alike in that way," he said as smoothly as he could muster. She was just inches from him now. If he shifted slightly they would be touching but he didn't. He couldn't. He was completely frozen. Especially when she looked up at him, her green eyes wide and clear instead of hiding behind a layer of tears. She wore more make up than he had ever seen her in, which only enhanced her features in the dim light.

"Yeah," she said. A hint of a smile on her lips, like she enjoyed that idea.

"So what do we do?"

"I have no idea." She tilted her head and her long blonde hair fell over her shoulder. He needed to focus. "But maybe we could decide on a day when we both haven't had several glasses of straight whiskey."

"I suppose you're right." His face broke into a smirk. "When is a good time to see you again?"

"Monday…. Maybe in the afternoon."

"Alright, I will see you then," he said, already looking forward to it.

Neither of them moved. Neither one seemed in a particular hurry to get away from one another.

Not when it felt this electric to be this close.

In her head Emma knew she had crossed a line Saturday night. She knew she had taken it too far by following Killian upstairs in a bar and tossing back several shots of alcohol only to tell him all she could about her situation.

But in her heart she couldn't force herself to think it was wrong. The whole thing had felt so right, especially when nothing had felt right in so long.

Now she had to figure out what the next step was, because she had a real ally. Not a fake one like August who called her several times a week to probe her for information. That's what was nice about Killian, the whole time she had talked to him she never felt that pressure. She knew with him she didn't have to say anything she didn't want to.

That was probably what made it so easy.

At the same time though, she knew that underneath that conversation they had something else lingered. There was a feeling that came over her when she thought of him, a wave of emotions she didn't know she had anymore. It was something that burned like desire, but simmered like hope.

Emma had avoided visiting Neal at work even before she knew that he and his father were running a major criminal operation out of it. She never wanted to be there, on the massive property that contained all of the materials they used to build the town of Storybrooke. The long blocks of wood, the forklifts carrying pallets of dirt, the showroom of staged paneling and scale models of homes.

But today she had forced herself to come. Neal's car was here, her white Range Rover next to his black one, he must be somewhere on the compound. The parking lot was fairly empty, a Monday morning wasn't exactly the time people came to plan out their dream home. Which was why Emma had decided a weekday visit would be best.

Inside the showroom, Emma was alone. Not a soul was here. In her hand she had a bag of take out food, coming here under the guise of bringing a lunch was her best bet for looking genuine.

"Hello?" she called out to no one in particular. She peered around the large room, which was filled with model kitchens and floors and beams and any kind of construction combination one could imagine. Which made it tough for Emma to tell if she was completely alone or not.

She knew for sure she wasn't though when she heard the click of heels on the hard floor. Emma looked to see a woman with a short blonde bob, and a dress that almost exactly resembled hers. Both the same cut, shape, belted waist. Emma's was pink though, where the other woman's was blue.

Immediately Emma's defenses went up. Neal had bought her this dress.

"Can I help you?" said the blonde, who was now only a few feet from Emma. She was pretty, sharp features. Defined lips, deep brown eyes, a layer of make up a pick axe couldn't peel off.

"I'm looking for N-… my husband."

"Are you Emma?" the woman asked, at the same time noticing they wore the same dress. Two shades of the same model. Her face twisted into a grimace just barely before flashing a fake white smile. "I'm Amanda, I work with Neal."

"Oh," Emma was startled, he had never mentioned her. Nor had Emma ever met her.

"I'm guessing you didn't know I existed…" Amanda stepped closer, pulling the binder in her arms closer to her chest. As soon as she was within fair distance Emma caught a whiff of something. It was entirely too familiar for this to be the first time she had smelled it.

"No, I don't normally visit him here," Emma's posture tightened as she realized where she had smelled that perfume before. "Leave the work life separate."

"Must be hard for him to do, he's here so often."

It was a jab if Emma had ever heard one. And despite now knowing that this was the woman Neal was sleeping with, it didn't rile her up. In fact, she felt almost nothing.

"He's a bit of a workaholic," Emma said coolly. "I find ways to keep busy."

"I'm sure you do."

Amanda was clearly more agitated than Emma, probably because she thought that being the other woman gave her the upper hand in this situation. Her body language was tense and her face rested in a scowl. Lining her lips was the same shade of lipstick Emma had found on Neal's dress shirt.

"Would you mind telling him I'm here, I have coffee." Emma waved the to-go cup tray in her hands. She didn't want to hang out with Neal any more than this barracuda in pumps wanted her to, but Emma wanted out of her situation and the only way to do that was to be around the place she was certain covered up something much bigger.

"Sure." The tight lipped woman stalked out of the room, her posture still tight. Emma had to hand it to Neal, he certainly had a type. At least physically.

Of course he would be stupid enough to get them the same dress in a different color. She just hoped he was dumb enough to leave around any indication as to what was really going on at this company.

"Emma, I didn't expect you to be here," Neal said when he entered the main part of the showroom. He was dressed as he usually was at work, well-tailored suit, tie perfectly in place, slime beneath his skin.

"I figured I would drop by, I was out running errands." It was a lie but he would never be able to pick up on that.

"Well I was actually just headed out to a job site," he began, already trying to weasel away from her. Probably toward the other woman he was sleeping with who lingered a few feet away pretending to be busy. "I can spare a few minutes though."

"Thanks," she forced herself to say, as if his presence in her life was such a gift.

Emma followed him back to his office. The space was highly modern, sleek looking. All of the surfaces were either white, gray or black. Much like their home. There were a few windows that allowed for some natural light but not much personality other than that. The only evidence of

Emma's presence was a small frame of the two of them that had been migrated to the corner shelf.

"Doing some rearranging?" she asked, carrying the frame in her hands. It used to be on his desk, a gift from her when she had been genuinely trying to make it work with him.

"The cleaning crew must have moved that," he offered, taking the frame and setting it back on his desk. Though that most certainly was not the case. And Emma suspected it much more had to do with the woman she had met earlier.

"I got your favorite," she said, ignoring that conversation. It wasn't that much of a loss to her.

"Non fat skim. On ice."

Neal took the plastic cup from the tray, sipping at the drink. Emma looked out the window toward the lot. Forklifts moved around, men worked out in the hot sun, a truck was being unloaded from the docks. There certainly was a lot going on here, and there was plenty of access to the water. The more she thought about it the more she realized how easy it would be to make this a front for something bigger. But in order to figure that out she would need to come back at a time where she could remain unnoticed. Where she could look around, scope it out.

Emma knew her time with Neal was limited. She was walking a fine line with him. If she hung around him too much, probed him too much and asked him too many questions then he would know something was up. But at the same time she needed answers. What was it that his family was hiding? Obviously the drugs had something to do with it. But were the two of them just running some large scale criminal operation? Despite all Emma had learned about her fake husband, she still found it not to be so plausible.

When Emma got back to the house, Killian was already there. This time he was alone, he had no crew with him, no other people working in the yard. It was only him. Spreading mulch over the beds in the front yard. He didn't look up at first when she pulled in, after all they were in the front. People lurking all about that could catch them having a conversation that lasted too long.

It had almost happened Saturday night when she snuck off with him in the bar. However, it wasn't the people there she was concerned with. There were others on the street that made Emma uneasy, so when she walked past Killian to get to her front door she only gave him a polite nod. Hoping he would understand.

As she reached the top of the steps to the porch she spun around and allowed herself a second to appreciate Killian. The dark hair, the light eyes, the broody way he carried himself. She was drawn to him, and not just because they had learned so much about one another. It was beyond that.

Emma was attracted to him.

"Killian," she called out to him and immediately he stopped what he was doing. The shovel resting in the dirt at his feet. "Can you come help me with something? A shelf fell in my closet."

It wasn't a lie, one of the racks had fallen that morning when she had been getting ready.

"Sure," he said removing his gloves and throwing them onto the ground. If there was a smirk in him somewhere he tried to hide it very well, but not well enough. "I'll be right in."

"Great," she said curtly, glancing to see if any of the neighbors wandering about outside had paid mind to the interaction. They hadn't. Most people were just carrying on with their lives as usual. As far as Emma could tell. That didn't mean they hadn't noticed though.

Inside Emma wordlessly led Killian up the stairs to the master bedroom. He followed along quietly, not questioning her or appearing put off. He carried a box of tools he had grabbed from his truck that clinked together with each step. When they reached the closet it was plain to see that a shelf and rod of clothes had fallen. Leaving scattered dresses and shoe boxes lying on the floor.

The closet, on the whole, was larger than the entire apartment Killian had taken Emma to on Saturday night. No wonder he had been so insecure about the place, he assumed this was what she was accustomed to. Rows of neatly organized clothes hanging in handcrafted wood segments. A vanity that boasted vintage looking bulbs to light up the clean, white surface of the dressing table. A soft, plush rug that somehow comforted each of one's toes as they stepped through. A chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling to offset the recess lighting. It was a dream closet, in a dream house. But to Emma it had all become a nightmare.

"So this must be the culprit," he said wandering over to it. His eyes surveyed the failed craftsmanship and his hand reached up to caress his jaw, rubbing at it methodically as he studied the place where the shelf had come from. "Emma it looks like someone yanked this clear off the wall."

No, it wasn't a lie that one of the racks had fallen. That part was true. However, she had decided to omit the story of her knocking it down so she had a reason to bring him up here.

"Oh, it does, doesn't it?" she said pretending to be surprised by the scuff marks underneath where the rod went into the wall. The massive chunk of paint that had come off along with it.

"Is it possible that someone did this on purpose?" He turned toward her, coming across more serious than he had before. And Emma worried maybe that she had misread him.

"I just wanted to have a reason for you to come in. This," she gestured between the two of them, "is all new to me."

"Well, for the record, love," he said taking the rod from where it lay on the ground and beginning to assess the project. "If you want to spend time with me all you need to do is ask. There's no need to use deliberate property damage as an excuse."

Emma smiled a bit, she knew he was right. Still she watched as he worked, and even when he finished putting the section of the closet back in place she didn't move.

"Entertaining enough for you?" he said turning around, his eyebrow raised teasingly.

"There are certainly worse views to have."

It was hard for her to remain cloaked in the armor of pretending to be married to Neal, it was even harder when she was around Killian. Because he was someone who had begun to make her feel things she wasn't used to. It tested the limits of her restraint. But now she wondered exactly what she was restraining herself for. Killian knew that Neal wasn't a good guy, that he was actively lying to Emma and putting her in a really nasty situation. So why was she still acting like the ring on her finger meant anything?

"Listen, Emma," he said with a bit more urgency than usual. "I know we have to talk about… well about what we talked about on Saturday, and I am aware that this puts you in a more precarious position than I."

Emma's head tilted looking at him, he appeared nervous. A little tense even as his hand reached up to scratch behind his ear. His eyes were fixed on the floor but he was barely an inch away from her. Their tension lingered in the air like dust before settling. Emma's heart pounded in her ears but she tried to remain as composed as one could.

Killian's eyes shifted to Neal's half of the closet. All of the carefully hung clothes that were a reminder of his presence. In the moment Emma resented them, every last shirt, because she knew what Killian was eluding to.

"Killian… there's something you need to know…" she wanted to tell him she didn't love Neal at all, that they were only really together technically not legally. "With Neal and I there's no… we aren't…."

"There's no what, love?" he asked on bated breath. His question worded so carefully it would mean two things.

Without thinking any further, without clouding up her head with second guesses Emma grabbed the fabric of Killian's shirt and pulled him toward her. Their lips meeting, though soft at first, it felt the way a kiss should. The softness growing quickly to urgency the longer they were connected. Emma felt it to her sensation of wanting someone so badly, then finally getting a taste.

His tongue teased the entrance to her mouth as the kiss deepend, she felt the tingle and tear of his fingers running through her hair. They broke ever so quickly for breath before resuming and Emma wanted to know all that his man was capable of making her experience.

The feel of his beard against her jaw, the way his mouth danced perfectly with hers, his hands fell to her hips encircling her naturally pulling her flush against him. The touch of his fingers burned through the fabric of her clothes, the fire between them only heightening the longer they were under the spell of one another. It was a part of him she had as a part of him she had never seen before. A part of him that wanted her too, so badly that logic didn't matter.

It was unlike anything she had experienced before.

But then all too quickly it was over.

"Emma…" Killian pulled his mouth from hers. His eyes still closed as their foreheads rested together. His hands cupped her cheeks, the tender feeling of his skin on hers sent warmth down to her core. Her hand still fisted around the collar of his shirt. Her eyes flickered to the glimpse of dark, coarse chest hair that the fabric heavy breath the only sound in the room. "We can't… you're…"

Now was the time, if ever she needed to just come out and say it, it was now. Because it was tearing at her throat, the last part of her secret that she had never told anyone. And she was certain Killian would not touch her again unless he knew.

She sucked in a breath, pulled all of her courage and the adrenaline running through her from that kiss, "Killian… Neal and I aren't really married. We never were."


	10. Chapter 10

**Soooooooo after like a 4 month hiatus I'm back! I genuinely apologize for not updating forever, I hit some difficult patches in my personal life (nasty break up) and had absolutely no writing inspiration up until about a week ago.** **I would just like to take a swift moment to thank my angels: my beta resident_of_storybrooke, shady-swan-jones for the incredible artwork, onceuponaprincessworld who checked in always even when I stopped updating, and to anyone else who checked in on me I sincerely appreciate it :)** Emma sucked in a breath, pulled all of her courage and the adrenaline running through her from that kiss, "Killian... Neal and I aren't really married. We never were." For a while, Killian didn't say anything. He simply stood there. His blue eyes not leaving hers. Emma didn't know if she should continue or wait for his reaction. It was her first time saying those words out loud, and in a way it felt like the relief after you just throw up. Expelling pent up words that should remain buried. "You... what?" he finally said. His face furrowed in confusion but at the same time he hadn't stepped away from her. "Neal and I aren't really married. We..." Emma was the one to step away. Her breath quickening, to tell Killian everything meant just that. He would know everything. Emma's stomach twisted into knots, flipping over on itself as she walked away from him. She found the circular tufted seat in the middle of the room, bracing herself to cross the line she had tried so carefully to not go anywhere near. The lavender fabric ran beneath her legs to give her some stability. "Technically we're engaged. If you could call it that. We only pretend to be married to placate his father." "So you're in a league with him?" Killian looked skeptical. It was a tough pill to swallow, especially immediately after kissing someone. There were a lot of emotions, feelings battling right now. His lips were still the slightest bit puffy from a few moments ago when she had finally gotten to kiss him. "No! No, no, no." Emma stood up again. Somehow him thinking she was on Neal's side was worse. "He and I aren't on the same team. I'm trying to get away from him. So that he can't take me down with him when... whatever he and his father are up to comes crashing down." Now Killian was the one to sit down. His hand rubbed along his jaw as he stared at the plush carpet. "There was a time when we were a regular couple, Neal and I. When I thought maybe we could someday get married," Emma leaned against a row of clothes, worrying this was too big of a secret for Killian to handle. Like at any moment he would just jump up and run out of her house never to see her again. And while she hadn't known him that long, the thought of losing him was a bit scarier than she cared to admit. "Before we moved here, before I knew Neal wasn't who I thought he was... he proposed." Finally Killian looked over at her. The look of confusion had faded into something unreadable. "At the time I said yes, I grew up with no one. I started to like the idea of having someone... forever." Emma stared around at the closet. The rows of clothes and shoes. The excess of it all. Suburban bliss. It was all she had wanted. Growing up she used to stare at houses like this, on streets like hers and picture what it would be like to live inside. To have a home, a family. To be loved. As stubborn as she was she knew it was true. "I can understand that," was all he said. But it was tender. Killian had grown up with a family but it hadn't been a good one. That much Emma did know, she actually knew quite a bit about him when she thought about it. "Of course it wasn't that easy." A tear slipped from her eye. "Of course the whole dream was built on lies." "Emma..." Killian whispered softly walking over toward her. Emma's back was against the rows of clothes, there was absolutely nowhere for her to hide. Not that she wanted to. Especially when Killian reached up to wipe the single tear that lingered beneath her eye. The soft pad of his thumb grazing the skin of her cheek so carefully it was like she was made of glass. She launched into the whole sordid tale. The car being lined with kilos of cocaine. The police pulling her over and dragging her into questioning. She even talked about August, how he had backed her into a corner and she was doomed to help him until the Gold's were done. The watch she wore on her wrist that was filled with wires and a microphone to record anything even remotely useful. It all came out at once, as if in one breath. The secrets she had kept for months, the ones that ate away at her she told him. Emma couldn't put a finger on why, perhaps it was that the man standing in front of her shared the same disgust for the Golds. Perhaps it was the way he looked at her right now, like even in this crazy warped situation he didn't think any less of her. Or maybe it was that Killian didn't ask for her trust, didn't beg for it or demand it. Emma trusted him simply because she did. "So his plan is to drag you down with him," was all Killian said. It almost sounded like he was biting the inside of his mouth. "Yes. Or at least he was protecting himself in the event that I got caught." His face grew as red as a tomato. Instinctively Emma grabbed at his forearms. To bring him back, she had never really seen him angry but she knew his temper was boiling over. "So that's why I stay." Emma looked up at him, his breathing had slowed and he wasn't as tight anymore. "It's not forever, just until I can come up with enough to get them caught. Then I go." "Then I suppose we had better start looking," Killian said gently. His hand coming to cup her cheek. The spot where his skin met hers felt the jolt, the spark they had the first day they met. When they simply shook hands, not having any idea where their relationship would go in the short span of a month. "Why do you want to help me?" she asked after a few moments of silence. "How could I not, love?" She knew what he meant. It was the same way she wanted to help him find out if his girlfriend had been murdered by the Gold's. They both saw one another with this lingering, heavy pain that could only be resolved by forging ahead and finding answers. Even if those answers were less than ideal. The last thing Emma wanted was to spend her life behind bars as an accessory to Neal's escapades. She had seen enough true crime TV to know that the wife always goes down with the crime lord. "So where do we start?" she asked removing her hands from his arms and stepping back. It was distracting enough to be alone in a room with him, the last thing she needed to do was touch him. Especially when neither one of them was really acknowledging their kiss. At least not out loud. "Well I would assume if there was anything incriminating it wouldn't be in this house," Killian said walking over to the seat in the middle of the room. Emma followed but didn't sit next to him. Instead she fiddled with the flowers she kept on the glass end table. "Do you think his office would have something?" "Probably," Emma thought back to her visit with Neal this morning. How that Amanda girl lurked in the shadows no matter where he was. "I think I know when we can get there. So no one will see us." Friday night. Date night. But Emma sat waiting in the living room. It was dark outside, the massive windows only showing the rainy night. She stared at her phone hoping to see it light up any minute. Ever since their little talk, when Neal had promised to start over with her, he had been more diligent about coming home late. He would still do it, he just warned her now. With little apologetic texts and voicemails that meant nothing to her. However, it was just what she needed tonight in order to get into his office unnoticed. It felt a lot like when she was younger and waited on boys to call her first. She didn't so much do that anymore, and it certainly wasn't the same thing. But the feel of the adrenaline was very similar. Emma lounged on the white couch, swirling around the remaining droplets of Merlot in her glass. She toyed with a loose string on one of the Pottery Barn throw pillows, noticing there was a chip in her pale pink nail polish. All week her mind would wander to the kiss with Killian. How she had wondered for so long what that would feel like. And now to know, it certainly was not a disappointment. It was the first time in years that she had felt so alive. She wanted to do it again, she wanted nothing more than to feel Killian's mouth on her and all over her. But after talking on Monday, it hadn't happened again. The man was on his best behavior when Emma knew he was capable of so much more. She saw it in him, felt it. At 8:30 her phone finally pinged. I won't be home until later, sorry. The text from Neal was decidedly less lovey-dovey than he had pretended to be the past few times. Emma supposed whatever spell he was under had to wear off eventually. Emma sighed and responded with something passive aggressive. Hitting send she thought of how he was behaving exactly how she predicted he would. Her plan would only work if he was as much of an ass as Emma thought he was. So far, at least in that respect, he hadn't let her down. She felt nothing but hatred for him anymore. Neal was as good as dead to her and she couldn't wait until she never had to see him or his father again. But that would take work. She unstrapped her wrist watch, leaving it on the coffee table for the night. August didn't need to know about Killian. Especially as Emma's feelings for her gardener were a bit more complicated. With the green light Emma needed she got into her car and drove. The white Range Rover whipping around the bends and twists of a windy road far from where she lived. The trees almost closing in as breezes kicked into gusts of wind and blew rain and leaves all over the place. Of course it was storming. She slammed on the brakes in a panic when she saw two deer crossing the road. Her car at a complete stop Emma took a second to close her eyes. She needed to breathe, to calm down. She listened to everything around her, the soft hum of the hot air coming out of the vents. The back and forth of the windshield wipers as they smacked away the rain. The hiss of the wind. Emma had been so used to being on her own. Growing up without any family or stability, the feeling of uncertainty was normal to her. But that had changed for a moment when she met Neal. She had allowed herself to envision the security of that. And somewhere along the line that dream had turned into a nightmare. When she pulled into the driveway, or lack thereof, at Killian Jones' house a level of serenity settled over her. Emma wasn't in this alone anymore. Looking at the house, she could hardly see details in the dark. Though she could tell the house was a great deal different than her own. It was small, simple in its design. Very little landscaping for someone who did it for a living. But she remembered what he had told her on their first day at her house. That it reminded him of a fishing cottage he used to go to. And it warmed Emma's heart a little to think he had a home he enjoyed. One that brought back positive memories. Compare that to where she was, and it was like night and day. The only sign of life the single light that was on in the kitchen. She could see him through the window. Killian was at the sink rinsing off dishes. His mouth moving melodically as he scrubbed. Was he singing? Emma got out of the car, her Hunter boots hitting the muddy gravel. The rain landing hard on her black trench coat. Even over the rain she could hear the faint lull of music coming from the house. She didn't know why it eased her nerves but it did. And she allowed herself a few more seconds of watching him before she went to his front door. "Emma, come in," Killian smiled when he opened the door. She breezed by him, getting a slight whiff of toast when she walked in the door. "I apologize for the humble accommodations, love." "No, Killian, it's great." As Emma stepped further inside she looked around. The wood floors, the simple furnishings. The cozy feel. He had a fire burning in a gas stove in the corner of the living room. "It's so warm in here." Even from the few steps it took her to get to the door she was soaked from the rain. "Here… sit by the fire. Warm up." She took a seat by the fire, the remnants of the fire crackling. The place was sparse but impeccably well maintained and cleaned. As much as Emma knew they didn't have a lot of time to waste, she couldn't force herself to rush out of his house. "Can I offer you something to drink? A glass of water or coffee?" "No, I'm fine. Thank you." Why was she being such a robot? It was then that Emma noticed how straight her posture was, sitting ramrod straight on his couch as if she would get in trouble if she shifted. When was the last time he had a woman here? And why was that any of her business? "What were you cooking?" Emma asked as he finished putting the last of the dishes away. "Grilled cheese," he said lightly. "One of the few things I know how to cook." "It smells delicious." Emma couldn't remember the last time she had a good grilled cheese. Being so into all of the exercise and yoga and general stress of her life, small indulgences were rare. "Such a simple combination but so satisfying," he smirked, walking over to where she sat. He looked so comfortable here. In his jeans and dark green flannel shirt. His hair in disarray. Emma tensed a bit as he caught her staring at him again. He was strikingly good looking. "So what's the plan?" "Maybe we should get going and I can tell you on the way…" Emma stood, her body sufficiently warm from the fire. She was resisting the urge to be comfortable here. To stay in the seat on the couch by the flames and watch them dance, as she danced near fire of her own. Killian Jones drove with his good hand, quietly in the dark as the last few droplets of rain hit the windshield. Emma was in the passenger seat of his truck, giving off nothing but nerves as his truck took the bends of the road toward civilization. He thought perhaps once they left his house she would ease up. Judging by the way she sat rigid as a post in his living room, she was wildly uncomfortable in his home. And he didn't want her to feel any more stress than she already did. All she had told him of her situation made him want to get to the bottom of the Gold family more than ever. Something he hadn't thought possible until she had confided her secrets in him. "Emma, I know this is hard for you." Killian was treading lightly as he pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall Emma had directed him to. "I need to know a bit more about what we're doing here." "I suppose that's fair." She finally shifted from staring out the window to looking at him now that they were in a parking spot. "Neal is… distracted for the night. So we should be in the clear to sneak around the office." "Distracted?" "He's with someone else." The way she said it was so matter of fact, as Killian stared at the beautiful angles of her face in the dim light, he wished nothing more than for her to actually be with a decent person. "Ah, I see." "If we cut through the woods back there it takes us to the main building of the Gold showroom. Once we're close we can see how easy it is to get in." The way she spoke was so calm, but her eyes told a different story. The deep, green pools bore into him. And all he could think was how terrified she probably was. For a second he caught her glance at his lips, and her cheeks turned the faintest color pink. It wasn't the first time he was reminded of the feeling when her lips met his. In fact, that had been a recurring thought in his head for most of the week since their kiss. "What?" She smiled just a bit, and her cheeks darkened to a darker pink. One that matched her lips and Killian felt his whole body warm. She was so strikingly beautiful. Her light blonde hair falling in curls around her face, her smooth skin, her wide eyes. "Nothing." He smiled back, ever so quickly so as not to make light of the situation. But god he would do anything for her to blush like that again. "We should, um we should go." She turned her head quickly, but not quickly enough that he didn't notice her deepened smile. "Right, lead the way." Killian was starting to learn he would follow Emma just about anywhere she led him. The trek through the woods was dicey. The rain had slowed but had left the woods muddy and slippery. Luckily they had both worn boots which made the short walk bearable. Emma led the way with confidence, and Killian wondered if she had ever done this before. "It's just up ahead, see the lights?" She said between steps. The closer they got the more careful she was in her movements, avoiding twigs and branches that could snap. "Aye." It was the first sign of civilization they had seen since they left his truck 20 minutes ago. "Is there quite a bit of security at this place?" "I'm not sure." She stopped suddenly, they were within a few feet of the parking lot which was well lit and occupied by two cars. Emma spun to face him, her once damp hair had dried into an array of wild curls. "I guess we'll find out." She waited on the fringe of the forest, a layer of fog beginning to form as the air grew warm and humid. Killian stood behind some trees to conceal himself. He wasn't sure what they were waiting for until two people left the building. He knew for certain one of them was Neal Gold, the arrogance and wormy face clear from a mile away. Next to him, very closely, walked a woman with near white blonde hair cut at her shoulder. She stumbled a bit in some spikey heels and leaned on Neal. Their comfort in body language said it all. This was the woman Neal was having an affair with. As they watched the two pile into the car, Killian wanted to reach out and hold Emma. She was only a few inches from him. The sweet smell of her perfume lingered in the air. If she was at all upset she didn't show it, instead waiting for the car to drive off before she proceeded to a darkened side of the building. "We can get in through the basement," she whispered once they were out of eyesight to anyone driving past on the road. The door that led to the basement of the building was an old storm cellar that didn't fit with the aesthetic of the rest of the structure. Its dark green doors looked to be almost rusted shut. Killian had only ever been here once before, it was quite a ways away from all of the development that had gone up around Storybrooke, ironically. All of the strip malls and chain restaurants and neighborhood developments the Gold family was responsible for building were far away from the headquarters. The loading docks behind the building were even empty. All of the trucks gone home for the day, forklifts parked in a row, stacks of wood left unattended in the covered garages. It was an eerie place to be at night, the massive and overwhelming complex so daunting in the dark. It only made it worse knowing that whatever nastiness the Golds were up to, most likely operated directly out of this building. Emma bent to grab the handle of the door, and Killian half expected it to rust and crumble before their eyes. Instead though, it opened right up. "I dropped by earlier and stuck a notecard between the lock," Emma said, sounding a little proud of herself. Low and behold she held up a crumbled piece of paper that had sat unassuming to prevent the door from locking. So she had mapped this out quite a bit. Killian didn't want to beam with pride, certainly not when it came to breaking and entering. But he couldn't help it. The Emma who was so broken and trapped with a man who was lying to her, cheating on her, and who knows what else... yes that Emma was nowhere in sight as she proceeded to break into the Gold compound. It was then, just as Emma was about to walk down the dim stairwell into the basement, that they were both startled by the sound of a car door slamming. Emma dropped the storm door and ducked behind the brick wall next to them. It was the only thing keeping them from being in full view of the parking lot. On the other side of them were massive dumpsters nearly overflowing with garbage from the week. And slowly, Emma pulled Killian by the hand behind the dumpsters and into the shadows as the footsteps grew closer. Killian stole a glance over at her, Emma's back flat against the wall, her hand lingering in his. He squeezed just a bit tighter to reassure her he was just as invested in this as she was. The only sounds were their muffled, labored breathing. And the click of a pair of heels along the pavement. There were two voices. A man and a woman, familiar to Killian but it wasn't Neal. He racked his brain trying to figure it out. It wasn't until the voices were on the other side of the wall that he realized who they belonged to. "It should just be right inside," the man said briskly. "It better be," the woman replied. Whoever they were, the circumstances they were under to be here were not ideal. "The last time it wasn't." There was a long pause. "You know that had everything to do with my son and not me." Neal was not the male voice, it was clearly his father. And the female voice, the same one he recognized from years of working for her. The woman he had seen walking out of the prison the last time he had gone to visit his mother. Cora Mills. "Gold," Emma mouthed as they listened to the two let themselves into the building. "Cora," Killian mouthed back. Emma's eyes widened and then her brows furrowed in confusion. He was just as confused as her. What could those two possibly be doing here together, late on a Friday night? They waited a few more beats, until they were certain Cora and Gold were inside. And then a few seconds more just to be safe. "What could they possibly be doing here?" Emma whispered first. "I haven't a clue," Killian looked up as a few lights clicked on in the building. Whatever it was they were doing, they would be here a while. "We should go, right?" Emma said. Her face had shifted, like all of a sudden after getting them this far, she had lost all confidence in herself. "This is... this is nuts." "Emma..." Killian took her other hand and stepped closer to her. He didn't know much, and who knows how much time they had. But he certainly wasn't going to keep anything from her. "Remember when I told you I went to visit my mum?" "Yes." She looked skeptical but she also wasn't running. "Well, the last time I was there, I saw Cora Mills. She was leaving the prison, I haven't a clue what she was doing there but I can't help but think..." "That all of this is somehow connected?" "Yes. And I know that's crazy. But..." "You're just as invested in all of this as I am." "Aye." He looked down at her, their eyes locked as if they weren't standing in the dark, fog next to a dumpster. "We came here tonight to get closer to answers that you and I both want, love." "I know." In seconds the fire was behind her eyes again. Her shoulders were straight and her hands in his tightened ever so slightly before letting go. "We need to find out what they're up to." Emma began to maneuver around the brick wall. She turned back for a moment for him to follow her. His heart raced, he had assumed the plan was to do this so no one would be around. But if he wanted to find out what Gold was up to he would need to find out from the source. And the source had arrived with a much unexpected guest. "I want a view of them when they come out," Emma whispered as she led them back to tree line. The woods had a clear view of the front door, where he assumed Gold and Cora would eventually come out of. They moved very quickly, taking advantage of the shadows cast by the lights over the parking lot. Eventually Killian breathed a slight sigh of relief when they were behind a cluster of bushes and at a decent vantage point. Killian wasn't sure how long they crouched there. Among the branches and leaves and forest. Cloaked behind the layer of fog in the air growing thicker by the minute. If Cora and Gold didn't come out soon, it was quite possible that the fog would mask whatever it was they had gone inside to fetch. A car pulled into the parking lot again, what he could only assume was Neal as it matched Emma's almost identically except for the color. Hers was a stark white, and his a black luxury vehicle. "He bought us the same dress," Emma said quietly as she watched Neal kiss the woman before she climbed into her car. "Different colors, but the same one." Killian didn't say anything, simply glanced over at Emma whose eyes were a bit foggy. Not unlike the air. "That was when I knew it was her." "That man is an absolute imbecile," Killian spouted out before he could think to hold it in. It was a tame statement for all he wanted to say about Neal. Someone who had been so lucky to have had Emma, but completely ungrateful for it all the same. "I know." A wry smile spread on her face, as if she truly knew how much of a moron he was. "What's unbelievable is that I'm aware of his duplicitous ways. I'm tuned in to what's going on. He's still obtuse enough to think I love him." "Do you feel anything at all for him?" "Yes." She said matter of factly. "I've never hated someone so much." Killian believed her. In a way that didn't shout from the rooftops, in a way that didn't require endless declarations of truth. He believed her partly because he wanted to but also because how could he not? Here they were, lurking in the bushes, in the woods trying to grasp at anything. Any little thing that could free her, of course she hated Neal. Of course she was angry. But the big question, the one that lurked in the back of his mind as she brought Killian along was how could she trust him? It was then that the front door of the building opened, to reveal Gold and Cora. As Gold nodded to a security guard at the front desk, Killian noted a leather briefcase in Cora's hand. Held tightly against her jacket, it was a few moments before Neal noticed his father there and Killian struggled to hear whatever was going on. Apparently so did Emma because as she inched forward to hear their faint voices, she damn near had her whole body in the leaves. But then Killian heard something so clearly, the loud sound of a cell phone ringtone. He looked over at Emma to see her scrambling in her pocket to turn it off. "Shit," she whispered. And Killian looked back toward the building where sure enough he found Gold, Cora and Neal staring into the woods. Almost directly at Killian and Emma. "We have to go," Killian urged taking her hand. It was only a matter of time before one of the three walked over to see who's cell phone was ringing in the middle of the woods on a rainy night. Or worse, notified the police. Killian's heartbeat quickened as he ran. It was dark, and the wind was picking up again for more rain. The fog had gotten worse so he could hardly see two feet in front of him let alone find the other side where his truck was. But he forced his legs to carry him. Emma trailed behind him, keeping pace as they weaved through the endless forest, the fog swallowing them and acting as their only shield against being caught. A layer of sweat was beginning to form on his skin, periodically he glanced behind him to see if they were being followed. They weren't, at least for now. But they needed to cover as much ground as they could. They ran for a while, in a full sprint, no general direction. It could have been ten minutes but felt more like an hour. It wasn't until he couldn't hear Emma's breath next to him anymore that he realized he had lost her. Killian froze dead in his tracks forcing his eyes to see beyond the gooey fog in the dark. Searching for any sign of her, any hint of blonde hair or the sound of her feet. Nothing. His breath was heavy as he spun in circles looking for her. He took a few steps forward in hopes she would reveal herself. Still nothing. Until suddenly someone grabbed his arm and pulled him. He was in such shock he didn't realize the log at his feet and fell to the ground, dragging whoever had grabbed him down with him. They rolled down what felt like a hill, crushing twigs branches and leaves. Inevitably landing on the flat ground of what Killian assumed to be the bottom with the weight of the other person on top of him. Killian opened his eyes and stared up into a pair of green ones that would have been stunning in any amount of fog. He could see enough, and feel enough, to know that Emma was the one on top of him. Their breath was still heavy from the fall, the sounds of the forest echoing all around. Killian's whole back aches and he was certain Emma had a bleeding cut on her chin as their faces were only inches apart. Her whole body was pressed against his, his arms wrapped around her. But neither one of them were in any hurry to move. "You're quite stronger than you look," he said quietly, brushing a lock of curls behind her ear. She smiled, her head falling to his chest before quickly picking it back up again. The tension in the air was as thick as the fog. Beat for beat he could feel her heart pumping against his chest. The blood in his veins raced through his body, as if until this very moment he wasn't fully alive. Like the feeling and warmth that came from her being on top of him, had awakened a part of him he didn't know existed. Killian worried the spell would wear off. The adrenaline would dissipate and her interest would feign. But it didn't. Emma's hand brushed the coarse hair on his face, her gaze never leaving his. Her eyes twinkling in the night. Beneath the surface of his skin he felt electric. Where hers met his. Her fingers moved to the point of his chin, her thumb grazing his bottom lip ever so slightly. The cold metal of her ring teasing his facial hair. It took all of the restraint Killian had to not kiss her. To let her explore him, to memorize him. To decide what she wanted from him. "Killian…" she whispered as her gaze shifted to his lips, then immediately back up. He wasn't sure who moved first. Whose mouth initiated it. All he knew was that within seconds they were kissing. Their lips tangled together send shock waves through him. The soft feel of her tongue toying with his, her mouth opening to grant him entrance. A sigh escaped her when she came up from a breath, one that to Killian sounded like music. He wanted to hear her. "Emma…" he moaned, carefully tightening his grip around her waist. His lips finding hers again. "I'm not a doll," she breathed as Killian kissed slowly down her neck. "I won't break." He paused, knowing what she was asking. As if reading his mind and knowing he was capable of more. Killian sat up. Leaving behind all of the dirt and leave they had been lying in. Emma's face appeared surprised ad her legs landed on either side of his waist. He could feel the blood rushing down to his slowly hardening member. "I'm fully aware," he growled back, rising from the ground in one swift movement. Her legs instinctively tightening around his waist. A slight giggle emerged from the back of her throat as he did. Killian moved through the fog toward a nearby tree and pressed Emma's back up against the trunk. She threw her head back, Killian taking advantage of the access to her soft neck. The pulse of the vein as he kissed. His tongue trailing a wet line down her throat to her chest. He used his hands to undo her trench coat, the removal giving him more access to her creamy skin. Killian bit the place where her neck met her shoulder, eliciting a shiver that ran down the entirety of Emma's body. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since that kiss," he breathed into her neck. "You've driven me mad." Her fingers raked through the hair at the base of his head as she moaned into his touch. Her legs tightening around his waist as her hips began to grind along with his. The more the two of them moved together the hungrier he was. Animal instinct kicking in his hands ripped off her jacket so she was only in her t-shirt. Emma's fingers began to undo the buttons on his shirt, grazing his chest as they moved down. Their lips met in a wet tangle, his tongue exploring her mouth. He groaned as she bit down on his bottom lip, every molecule in his body on end. What had this woman done to him? His lips left hers and trailed a line down to her chest, pulling away her shirt he found her hardened nipples. Taking one in his mouth, the other in his fingers as he used his hips to keep her pressed against the tree. God it felt amazing to be up against her. "Fuck... so good... Killian," she cried out when his teeth teased the sensitive flesh of her breasts. He could listen to her cry out for him all night. He alternated between licking, kissing, biting all met with her blatant enthusiasm. Killian could have kept going for hours if it meant she would moan out his name and bit on his ear. But it was just as he was about to come up for air when he heart it. The distinct sound of footsteps in the woods. Both Killian and Emma had frozen. It was Killian who moved first. Taking Emma in his arms and ducking behind a tree. Everything had been so in the heat of the moment, they had completely ignored why they were in the woods in the first place. Running from Gold and Cora. Killian braced his arms around Emma who held tightly onto him. Emerging from behind whatever was left of the fog, stepping into the light of the moon was their trespasser. A deer. Both of them burst into laughter at the sight of what they had clearly thought was going to be far more scary. A harmless forest creature. "I suppose we should take that as a sign from the universe," Emma finally said once they had stopped laughing. Her eyes were hooded, and her gaze lingered on his. It was so easy to do, especially when they were this close. It was like whatever they were made up of, it was magnetic. "We should get out of here." "Aye." He cupped her cheek and pulled her back for one quick kiss. Tame compared to what they had been up to a few minutes ago. "But just so you know, I don't want to." As she looked at him, there was the softest twinkle in her eye as it caught the light of the moon. Her creamy skin was soft and luminescent. Her hair was wild with curls, and Killian twirled one lock of it between his fingers. She was like a siren, and he a sailor, bewitched and completely under her spell. "Neither do I." 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 has arrived as promised. Thanks so much for all of the support and understanding in the process it took me to get back into this. For the first time in a long time I feel inspired again. So I've put A LOT into this. Writing has always been my greatest outlet and I'm so happy to be able to do it.**

 **Shout out as always to my angels: my beta resident_of_storybrooke, shady-swan-jones for the artwork, and onceuponaprincessworld who always checks in and supports my (very long and excessive) writing process.**

Emma woke up Saturday morning with a pounding headache and an emotional hangover. The night before spent lurking in the shadows of the forest trying to catch Neal's family in God knows what. Even after crawling around the family business complex all Emma had managed to learn was that Neal was in fact and for sure having an affair with his assistant, that his father had a closer relationship with Cora Mills than she had ever known, and that in Cora's possession was a briefcase containing some sort of something she needed to get her hands on.

Emma tried to think of the times she saw Gold interact with the Mills family. Her perspective was limited, however she knew that Neal's father was powerful. He had a lot of pull in the town of Storybrooke, he had built most of it - or rather his company had. And Cora was probably just as powerful, what with her daughter being the mayor who was engaged to the chief of police. Yeah. It was too convenient. All of the major decision makers in one town all in the same social circle.

Neal had surprisingly come home after his date with his assistant. Amanda. Now Emma could hear him typing away downstairs in the office. What time was it? 7 am? The sun had barely come up, but what little was in the sky peaked through the blinds on her bedroom windows. She rolled over and wrapped herself tighter in the down white comforter. Maybe if she closed her eyes and went back to sleep she would wake up in a different life. Some days she wished she could just watch from a birds eye view, gain some clarity on her situation, and move forward. Because there was almost no one she felt like she could confide in.

Almost.

Then there was Killian.

The feel of his lips on hers had barely left her mind since the night before. Being pressed up against his rock hard form in the dark, foggy woods was a memory she wanted to cling to all morning. To stay in a bubble where she knew what it felt like to be desired. As she hadn't felt anything quite like it in some time.

A truck door slammed outside. And in an instant Emma had left her cocoon. Leaving the safety of her bed, crossing the room to the window and pulling open the drapes. On the street below she saw Killian Jones unloading his truck. From her second story window she took advantage of the view. Her own private one. People passed by in cars. The neighborhood began to come to life. But Emma's gaze was focused on him.

The muscles in his arms pulling at the tight fabric of his shirt as he lifted his tool box down to the sidewalk. The way he bit his bottom lip when he closed the bed of the truck.

The words Jones Landscaping were painted in bold letters on the side of the trailer. Reminding Emma that despite the fluttering in the base of her belly, despite the lingering puffiness on her lips, despite her imagination wondering what it would feel like to have all of him and not just a taste. And the smile that crept onto her face at the very thought.

Despite all of that, today he was her gardener. He was here to work, to do his job. And Neal, for once, was home.

Emma dressed quickly. Throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. She opted to leave her watch off until later, as she had last night. It was nice to have the break from it. August didn't need to hear 100% of her life. If he questioned her on it later she could just say she was… showering.

Before running downstairs she didn't even check the mirror, her usual desire to come across the perfect neighbor outweighed by her curiosity about talking to Killian. Her hair was still probably matted from sleep, but she wasn't worried about that. Because this morning when she woke up, knowing Neal was in the home office working away at whatever terrible shit his family was covering, the smallest amount of relief came from knowing Killian was right outside. Emma didn't entirely know if that was as terrifying as it should have been.

"You're up early," she heard Neal say as she walked into the kitchen. It startled her. Though she knew he was down here.

"I'm always up early." You would know that if you were ever around, she thought to add. But decided against it. The less dialogue the better. "I could say the same to you."

"Some work came up and I didn't want to go into the office."

Emma's head jerked up from the coffee she was pouring. Was it possible something happened with Amanda the night before? He had come back very quickly after leaving with her. And now he was in the last place Emma expected him to be. Their home.

"Anything important?" she prodded. Though she knew he would never tell her anything.

"Not anything you would understand."

It took everything she had not to chuck the coffee mug at his wormy head. But instead she opted to sip the steaming cup and swallow her words. The stale kitchen could have consumed her whole, its stark white and gray coloring. Hospital level clean as always. A drip of coffee hit the tile floor and she let it be. Let it stain, she thought. The house could use a bit of character. When she shifted her gaze back up, she stared straight ahead of her. Through the big glass windows that lined the back of the house she caught sight of him.

Killian was moving around the yard, which had really begun to come together, carrying bags of mulch on his shoulder. One right after the other and laying them where the rest of his workers would spread them out. For a moment she just watched him.

"Can you go outside and make sure they lay the brick work today and tomorrow?" Neal said, once again without getting up from his post.

Emma didn't say anything back, not when she knew she was being set up. It was, however, becoming more and more easy to walk right into it.

When Emma walked outside she found Killian in the front yard making some notes on a clipboard. His t-shirt was dark and tight, still clean as the day had just begun. A piece of his black hair had fallen over his eyes as he wrote. When he didn't notice her approach Emma (not so) subtly cleared her throat.

The instant their eyes met Emma felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. It was only a flicker, a blip of that electricity before they both remembered they were in public. They had to maintain a level of distance. Like she hadn't been wrapped in his arms the night before.

"Good morning," she said first.

"Good morning, love," he said, privately with a smirk. Just for her.

"Maybe we should um, go somewhere more private…" she realized then just how difficult it would be to pretend like nothing was going on with them.

He followed her into the open garage, back where all of the normal household garage things were kept. Shelves of power tools though Neal had never lifted a hammer. A sink. Some old paint cans.

The remainder of the bricks that had never been used were still in the corner. Emma had been so preoccupied with everything she hadn't had the energy to deal with them. While the front walkway was still a compromise, the back would be the limestone she had wanted. Plopping herself down on top of the pallet she faced Killian.

"Last night was uh…" He scratched behind his ear, the way he always did when he was a bit nervous.

"Interesting." Emma finished for him. As much as she absolutely loved diving into her feelings (she fucking hated it) there were some very serious matters to discuss. And quickly. "We know that whatever is going on, Cora Mills is most likely involved."

"Right." Killian agreed, if he was irked that she didn't immediately bring up their romantic encounter, he didn't show it. "We still don't know how they're covering up what they're doing though."

"There has to be a way they're bringing in all of those drugs." Emma thought back to the mountain of cocaine that was stuffed in her car the day she got pulled over all those months ago. Stuff like that doesn't just appear, it comes from somewhere. Or maybe something?

"What if they're bringing it in with the construction supplies?" Emma wondered aloud as she sat atop a stack of unused bricks. "How easy would it be to just fill the center of one of these pallets with contraband and fill in the other space with actual materials."

Killian looked at her as if it dawned on him at the same time. This had to be it. Or at the very least, it was a start. There was no telling all that family was capable of.

"That's actually quite brilliant, Emma." She wasn't sure why it made her heart flutter when he acknowledged her idea. But that was something to unpack at another time. "But how do we prove that?"

"Emma!" she heard called from the front street. A soft female voice that obviously belonged to Mary Margaret.

Killian and Emma both froze. Listening one by one as the footsteps got closer.

"Oh- sorry to interrupt I didn't realize…" the woman said as she stumbled upon them. Just the two of them, alone in a crowded garage.

"It's fine, don't worry. I was just…" Emma tried to come up with an explanation, but from the way they were positioned it honestly didn't look like anything super innocent was happening.

"We were just going over some of the plans for the pathways in the yard is all," Killian offered smoothly. "If you ladies will excuse me I have to get back to work."

Quickly he smiled and dismissed himself, but Emma had so much more to talk about with him. And he, with her. If she was judging the expression on his face correctly, it looked as though he had so much on his lips. A tiny, unfamiliar pang struck her heart as he rounded the bend of the garage and was out of her sight.

When Emma turned to face Mary Margaret her friend's face was apologetic, guilty even. But she didn't want anyone else caught in the crossfires of her life. It was hard enough bringing Killian in, the last thing she wanted to do was burden someone as sweet as Mary Margaret. Her earnest face, kind and calm. The pale blue of her t-shirt against her pale skin. She was like a doll, delicate and dainty.

"What's up?" Emma tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible when she and her gardener had just been walked in on yet again.

"I should have just called or something," Mary Margaret apologized. "I'm sorry."

"No worries, it was nothing important." Which was a total lie but there was no way she could get into that right now.

"I was just coming over to see if you wanted to come to Ruby's birthday tonight."

"Where is it?" Emma wondered if Killian would be there. Maybe they could find a second to talk more about last night when Neal wasn't in the next room.

"The Rose and Thorn, that bar we went to after your housewarming."

Seemed reasonable enough. Though the last time Emma had been there she and Killian found themselves awfully close. There were enough dark corners to hide in where they could make a new plan.

"That would be great." As much as Emma tried to rationalize her going tonight, she knew a big part of her liked that she was being included. That even though she was trapped in this impossible situation, she had found some nice people in Mary Margaret and her husband, in Ruby and Tink. Even in Killian.

Hard as it was to admit, she had felt more connected here than she had in years.

It was dark when Emma began to drive. Neal had left the house to 'spend time with his father' but now Emma knew better. He was probably going to mend whatever issue existed with him and his mistress. At least now he wouldn't ask too many questions as to where she was headed. While it was the truth she was going to Ruby's birthday party, there was another stop she had to make before.

The diner she always met August in was growing to be one of her least favorite places in the world. The dim air of the place adding more weight to her situation. The sooner she could get him all of the information he needed, the sooner she could be free.

"It's been a while." Was the first thing out of his mouth when Emma reluctantly slid into the booth. His hair dark and curly, his expression like a cat chasing its prey. Per usual she opted for no food, the faster to get out of there the better.

"I've been busy."

"Anything new you want to tell me?" His voice dripped with slime, and if Emma wasn't in such a hurry to get out of here she would have made him squirm more.

"Yes." Emma crossed her arms. She wore her red leather jacket, as she always did when she had to do something like this. It was her armor, her safety net. "I think I know how they're bringing in the drugs."

Emma started by leaving out Killian, as she always did with August. The last thing she wanted was for anything to happen to him for helping her. And then talked about how she had the idea while sitting on a pallet of building supplies that morning. How easy it would be to mask all of the illegal items within the confines of a perfectly packaged pallet of wood or tiles or cement.

"It's a plausible theory." His hand went to his jaw and he reached for his coffee that he took with 2 sugars. "But how do they get it in?"

Emma wasn't entirely sure if he was asking her or asking himself out loud. There was a certain line she couldn't cross, as she wasn't an actual police officer or investigator. But if she could get them to that line, she could be free.

"I think there's some sort of tie in with local politics… powerful people. Who are able to turn the other way."

"What kind of people?"

"I'm not entirely certain yet," Emma didn't want to throw anyone under the bus unless she had actual proof. This was the sort of thing that ruined lives, and as much as she wanted to be free of it she wouldn't put an innocent person in the line of fire to get her out. "Just hit the tip of the iceberg with that one."

August was silent for a few moments, a rare occurrence in their meetings. If he wasn't asking her questions he was pretending, for the other diner patrons, that they were a couple or related intimately in some way. But this theory, it was the most she had been able to give him in a long time. And she could tell from the wry smile that spread across his face, he was pleased.

"You know, Emma, in another life I think you could have been a cop yourself."

She thought so too.

Killian sat at the bar of The Rose and Thorn. Surrounded by people who were drinking heavily, as he used to do, opting instead to sip carefully on a beer with his eyes on the door. A year ago at this time he would have been doing exactly that, probably drowned in self pity, losing himself in someone he wouldn't remember.

But tonight was different. He knew Emma would be here, she had told him she had been invited. After they had been caught by Mary Margaret in the garage Emma found him in the backyard.

"I'll see you later tonight," she had whispered so no one in the yard could hear. "Then we can talk."

She had quickly gone to walk away, so no one would see. But Killian took a risk, he grabbed her hand. Just to bring her back to him for a moment.

"I look forward to it, love."

Immediately he got excited at the thought of seeing her again. The promise of more. Even though the circumstances were less than ideal, he still looked forward to see her. Emma. The woman who had changed everything for him.

It was going on 10 o'clock and she was nowhere in sight. He wanted to call her, or text her, but what if she was with Neal? Or someone else who would raise an eyebrow at a Saturday night text from the gardener.

Another gulp went down too easily as he listened to his friends get drunker and drunker for Ruby's birthday.

"You know, Killian, the more you stare at that door does not have a proportionate response to the amount of pretty blondes who walk through it," Ruby teased as she slid onto the stool next to him. He looked over at her, she was tipsy certainly but not drunk. She knew what she was saying.

"That's never been my type." His jaw was tight as he said it. It had never been his type, but it certainly felt that way now.

"Tastes change." Ruby motioned for Robin to bring over some shots, which he did rather quickly. "You can tell me if something is going on, you know."

"I'm sure I can."

"What are you going on about, Red?" Robin mused setting down the overflowing shot glasses. He had poured three. Presumably one for each. But Killian wasn't out to get trashed tonight. If and when Emma showed up he wanted to be able to have a longer, private conversation about what they had found out the night before.

"Oh, just ribbing me about my romantic life. Or lack thereof."

"This is boring," she declared, throwing the shot back quickly and scooting away to another part of the bar where the rest of the group was playing darts.

"Romantic life huh?" Robin took the lead and ran. Though Killian had no intentions of admitting his feelings about Emma, if he was going to it would be to Robin. Someone who had also been down that road, and for far longer than he.

"There's nothing to tell."

"I won't pry." His friend put his hands up and offered a smile. "But it looks like there's someone looking for you."

Killian followed Robin's gaze and landed right on Emma who had just walked through the door. Her blonde hair was wind whipped, eyes searching the crowd for a familiar face. She was so beautiful, always, but particularly so right now. In the seconds before their eyes met and she was just looking.

But as she began to walk over to him she was intercepted. By Ruby. Of course. And Killian could hardly hold himself on that stool.

"If you look at her any harder you're going to drill a hole in her head," Robin said, polishing a glass behind the bar.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Killian…" Robin got serious. He knew his best friend wouldn't drag it out of him, but they knew each other better than anyone. And to outright lie to each other was an insult.

"It's complicated," he admitted out loud. It was quiet, but his best friend certainly heard. In more ways than one. "I haven't felt this way in a while."

"I know." His friend took the opportunity to warn him though, "just be careful though. You know who she's married to."

A swarm of people at the bar pulled Robin away, just as Killian locked eyes with Emma. She was still talking to Ruby and Mary Margaret but they were walking toward the bar. Toward him.

"Look who we found!" Ruby yelled, her arm over Emma's shoulder.

"I see that." Killian assessed Emma, she appeared fine but also far more sober than anyone else in the room. "What would you like to drink?"

"Vodka soda," she said, her eyes lingering on him a second too long.

"We're going to be over there, Em, come find us later." Mary Margaret started pushing Ruby away, leaving the two of them alone at the bar.

It was crowded so she was right up against him. So close he could smell her shampoo. Or perfume? Whatever it was, it was a scent all her own. And it was intoxicating.

"Should we go somewhere more private?" she asked after a few seconds, but didn't look up at him.

"Aye, follow me." Without thinking he took her hand and led her through the crowd, careful to stay away from the group of people he knew. Most of them were too drunk anyway to realize they had stolen away for a few moments.

Once they were upstairs in the room, his room. Well his old room. They could only hear the muffled sounds of the crowd below. It was just the two of them now. Emma's back was to him, just a few steps ahead.

"I met with the cop… that's why I was late," she finally admitted. Though Killian wasn't sure why she sounded so guilty. It was part of her deal, it was why they were doing all of this.

"How did it go?"

"As good as can be expected, when you're being exploited for information about your criminal fake family."

"Well when you say it like that it sounds so hostile," Killian joked. Emma finally turned to look at him. She had a smile on her face, one that he was coming to enjoy seeing.

"Unfortunately I come with some baggage," she said quietly, stepping toward him. Killian felt his heart begin to race.

"As do I."

"There are a few things I want to talk about… privately," Emma said as she got closer. "About last night…"

Killian reached out for her, his hands slipping into hers. All day he had wanted to do that. From the instant he saw her this morning all he could think about was touching her again.

"I suppose we should…" He pulled her to him. Feeling all of her against him, her lithe body melted to his was incredible. Killian stared into her jade green eyes, hypnotized. Knowing they shouldn't but not paying much mind to that.

And then they started to kiss.

Emma tugged at his buttons, slowly undoing his shirt as their lips moved together. They moved toward the bed in the center of the room, their lips not leaving one another's even as they collapsed on the bare mattress. He felt the grind of her hips, the way they moved in tandem with his. As if they had been doing this dance for years. When their lips broke for breath he stared at her a second too long. All at once the memories of this room flooded. All of the women he had taken back here to carelessly sleep with to forget his woes.

It wasn't all that long ago, several nights a week he would string one night stands together. Their faces and names a features all blurring together. But she stood out, Emma. Her blonde hair framing her face in curls. Her green eyes hooded with the desire he knew was coursing between the two of them. Yet as he remembered where he was it tainted things.

Emma's hands found his chest, slowly moving their way down to the waistband of his jeans. God it was like torture. Killian's head arched back, trying to separate Emma from all of those other experiences. But he couldn't. This room was a symbol of who he had been.

"Emma…. Emma…." it pained him to push her away. "Wait."

"Did I do something wrong?" Her delicate hands sent flames up his entire body as they worked their way from his very hard, very alert member to his shoulders.

"No, I…" There was no way he would ever forgive himself for doing this. He took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. Hoping that on some level she would understand. "Emma, love. Not here."

"Why not?" she pressed back. "You've been with other women here, I don't care."

"But I do."

She didn't stand up so much as she jumped up. As if all of a sudden nothing repulsed her more than being on top of him. Killian wished he could have sunk beneath the bed he was laying on. Anything would be easier than watching as her face went from desire to embarrassment in a matter of seconds.

And all because of him.

"I am, um, I'm going to go now." Emma shrugged on her jacket, throwing her purse over her shoulder.

"Emma, wait…" he stood. Trying to formulate the appropriate words. That she was too important to have in this room. That his feelings for her were too strong. But he feared that would only push her further. "It's not that I don't want to…"

"Then what the fuck is it? Because it sure seems like you don't." She was already halfway out the door. Her face no longer red from arousal but humiliation. She thought he was rejecting her. "You know what don't even bother."

Within an instant she was gone. The door slammed in Killian's face as he listened to her stomp down the stairs, and fade into the crowded bar. He could have chased after her, should have chased after her. But he didn't. Instead he leaned his head against the door and let out a sigh.

The room. It had housed him in a time when he was his darkest. And as much as he wanted Emma, bloody hell did it scare him how badly he wanted her. It wouldn't be in this room. In this place that had consumed him. She was far too important for that. She deserved elegant linens. Flowers. More than the burial ground for all of his past lovers.

Because if there was one thing Killian wanted to give her, more than anything else, it was a clean slate.

Sunday morning Killian made his drive the two hours to the Maine Women's Correctional Facility. He kept his eyes on the road, focused on the trees whipping by instead of the fact that he woke up this morning with a lump of regret on his heart. He had hurt Emma and instead of making it right he had let her walk out the door.

For the first time in a long time he wanted to talk about things that ran a little bit deeper with his mother. Years of visits had gone by where they never acknowledged things below the surface but today he needed that. Certainly he had wanted to ask if his mother knew why Cora Mills had been lurking around the prison during his last visit, if she could possibly know the answer to that. But after the night before with Emma, he was unsure she would ever want to work with him on this again. As he sat across the metal table from her he wondered how she would react if she weren't in prison. If she were just a regular mum who could meet him for coffee or cook with him on holidays. Would she pass judgement on his life? Would she be one of those overly involved parents who asked too many questions?

"You were quiet when you were little too," his mother said. It wasn't often they talked about the past, dragging up painful memories during their two hours every other week together. "Liam was always more talkative."

"He was better with people than I was." Killian remembered following his older brother around like a shadow when they were younger. "He was a better man."

"Not better, just different. The two of you got along so well though, that's something I never had with my step-sister." She smiled from across the table. They had been quite different but Killian had never felt as if he were less than his brother. At least not from his mum's eyes. "When you were in that accident, with your hand. It was like…"

"Like what?"

"Like he became your right hand."

In a lot of ways it was true. Killian didn't remember the exact moment his hand smashed between the boat and the dock. He was blacked out from the pain, the impact. But he remembered waking up in the hospital after. The beeping of the monitors. The stale smell of the air. The blaring television playing some daytime soap opera because it was a Thursday afternoon. The first face he saw was Liam's.

"Hard to believe he's been gone seven years…"

"The day they came to tell me my son had killed himself I didn't know whether to scream or crumble."

The room all of a sudden was much more quiet.

"Then afterward, the thought of you out in the world with no connection to family. That was something I never had… and I never wanted that for either of you."

His mother never spoke of her family. As far as Killian knew they had no other extended family. It was something he never questioned, but now sitting across the table from his mum he realized her identity was something she had suppressed all her life. With his father, Killian knew an aunt here an uncle there. When his father had died it was his side of the family that allowed Killian and his brother to couch surf until Liam turned 18. They weren't ideal, but it was something. With his mother he knew nothing. The mention of her step-sister was something rare, and Killian didn't want to ignore it. As much as he always had.

"Why don't you ever talk about your family?"

"I left home when I was young and never looked back." She added a bit more quietly, "and they never came looking for me."

Killian thought of his mother's words the entire drive home. They echoed in his mind as he walked through his front door into the home he and Liam had shared. Seven years had gone by since his brother had taken his own life.

He stared at the closed bedroom door, the one that had belonged to Liam. A demon Killian hadn't been willing to face but today, he felt more prepared to. Or as prepared as he could ever be.

The air in the room was stale, still. Windows sealed shut and furniture covered in a layer of dust from years of neglect. The master bedroom was a bit larger than Killian's. It had two closets along the far wall, a desk overflowing with papers underneath the window. A carefully made bed in dark blue linen.

In a frame on the nightstand sat an empty glass of what was once probably water, a picture of Killian and Liam. Sitting in the boat that now rusted out back, they were smiling. Liam's curly hair was always shades lighter than Killian's. But their eyes were the same. The light blue just like their mum.

He brushed his hand across the desk, stacked with old papers Killian hadn't seen in years. Invoices. Pamphlets. Notes. All of them stacked one right on top of the other in a disorganized mess. Liam would have been embarrassed if he could see his desk. It left in such disarray, it struck Killian as interesting that he left it this way. A man militant for organization.

All of the personal things were kept neatly in a folder. Liam's birth certificate. Social security cards. A passport. Their parents' marriage license.

Brennan Lee Jones. Alice Ragan Delaney.

They had a horrible marriage. One that Killian hoped he would never follow the example of. If he ever was to be with someone again. Not that he had envisioned marriage for himself. Especially not after Milah, and certainly not today. The only glimmer of hope he had felt in years had come when Emma Swan had appeared in his life. Now it seemed so out of reach since he had messed things up with her.

Flipping through the records of thee business, Killian noted how thorough his brother was. Even at the start when they only had a few reliable customers. Now a days Killian paid someone to do all of the paperwork because it was too much. If Liam only knew.

His brother had kept copies of all of the checks he had been given, all of the payments, noted down to the last cent. The first of which Killian noticed from the first year of business. It was a check written in elegant swirled handwriting. The meager amount of money Liam used to charge paled in comparison to how much was written on the 'amount' line.

The check was for $10,000.

Killian couldn't understand. How was it possible that his brother's first ever payment was for so much? Then he looked at the name of the person who wrote the check. The familiar letters printed in the top left hand corner. He read it over and over again to ensure he wasn't imagining it. That the maiden name was the same as his mother's. But there it was, in black and white.

Cora Delaney-Mills.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes: If anyone's still out there, here is chapter 12! Thanks so much for all of the support and understanding. Writing a second story while also going through some pretty massive changes in my life has been so hard. And it often knocks out my creative energy all together. But I was able to write this (over several months unfortunately) and hope to continue to do so.**

 **Shout out as always to my angels:**  
 **my beta resident_of_storybrooke, shady-swan-jones for the artwork and onceuponaprincessworld who always checks in and supports my long and excessive writing process.**

Killian could hardly believe his eyes as he stared at the name on the paper. He closed them tightly and reopened again. Bent the paper into the light from the window. Put it down and walked away only to refocus seconds later but the print stayed the same. The amount stayed the same. And from those two very convenient elements he could assume only one thing.

Cora Mills was his mother's step-sister. Which made her his step-aunt. Which was so insane to him he sat down on the corner of the bed to process it. The paper still in his hand as he stared straight ahead at the mess on the desk.

Had Liam known? Of course he had to have known, the marriage license and the check left conveniently close to one another. Killian ran his hand through his hair, clutching tightly to his scalp as if that would keep him from experiencing the throbbing headache that had appeared out of nowhere.

When his father died, years ago, the shotgun to the back of his head, a part of Killian was gone with him. And then shortly after, his mother being locked away for being the one responsible for his father's death, another part of Killian left. Liam's passing was yet another piece of him that disappeared. He had resigned himself to believe there was no family ties for him left in this town. Now to come to the realization that of all people, he could possibly be related to the very woman he suspected was tied to the Gold family.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled to no one but himself. There was no one else to mumble to. The only people who could potentially relate to his in any capacity were gone. One dead. One in prison.

Then he thought of Emma.

Certainly he could tell her, couldn't he? Though he had sufficiently muddied up that situation as well. She had all but stormed out of the room the night before. So quick he could barely get his thoughts together to tell her why he didn't want to have her in that room.

How he wanted her so badly but couldn't fathom doing it in the same spot he had lost himself. It was complicated, and while he wanted to explain that to her he also didn't want to overwhelm her. After all, they hadn't known each other all that long and he knew Emma didn't open her heart to just anyone. If that was where she thought of him.

Killian looked at his phone. There were no new messages, no missed calls. Of course Emma had his number but he knew better than to expect to hear from her. It was only right for him to reach out.

On the third ring she answered. Her smooth voice echoing in his ear. There was a hint of disappointment in her tone.

"What?" was all she said.

"Emma," Killian didn't know where to begin. There was so much. Especially as a huge puzzle piece sat in his hands. But to him the most pressing issue felt like he wanted that note of disappointment in her voice gone. Because right now he was the reason for it. "Can we meet somewhere?"

"Why?"

"There are some things I need to talk to you about and I don't… I don't necessarily feel comfortable doing it over the phone."

"I don't know."

"Emma, love, I-" He didn't want to say too much, to mince words or screw things up even worse. But he also wasn't comfortable with being complacent.

"Neal's home right now." She cut him off. "It'll be harder for me to sneak out."

"I understand." He was almost ready for her to hang up. "But it's essential that we talk in person. There are things I need to explain. I can wait all day. I can wait until tomorrow. But not much longer than that."

For a few seconds she was silent, and he worried he was too harsh.

"Can you meet at Irwin Park, just after sunset?"

"Of course," he could hardly mask his relief. It would be several hours before sunset, and he had a lot of digging to do before he saw Emma and would attempt to figure out how all of this connected.

Just before sunset Killian pulled his truck into the parking lot next to Irwin Park. The last of the families were leaving. Tired children carted away in strollers from the playground. A couple walking toward their car with a small dog on a leash. There was a time in Killian's life when he and Milah would have been that couple. An unassuming looking pair sharing a quiet evening walking around a pond.

After losing his family, Milah was his family. She was everything to him for so long. But then eventually she was gone too.

Killian lost Milah far before she actually died though. In the final months of their relationship she was unrecognizable. Scatterbrained. Paranoid. A ghost of who she once was. In the back of his mind he knew it was the drugs. He knew the cocaine had a lot to do with it. But he also knew there was something else. There were other forces at work that dragged her away from him. With the folder of information he had gathered in his hand, he felt closer than ever to figuring out exactly how all of this was connected. Or if it was connected at all.

Fifteen minutes later, all of the cars had cleared out. The sky was almost entirely dark. The place was desolate, creepy even as the wind caught a swing and blew it in the breeze. Emma's headlights whipped around the bend to nearly blind Killian as her Range Rover faced his truck.

"Bloody hell," he threw his arm up to block out the high beams. As capable as Emma seemed to be at most things, driving was not one of them. "Are you trying to blind me?"

"Sorry," she mumbled, locking her car and walking toward him. Her long hair tied off in a braid. A loose black sweater wrapped around her. Legs shapely in a pair of jeans. He never knew what to expect from her. The stepford wife in elegant party dresses or this version. The stripped down, laid back youthful Emma.

"I was worried you wouldn't show."

"I wouldn't do that." She stood before him, a few inches away. Her determined green eyes serious even in the dark of the night he could tell. "Some things are more important than… uh…"

"Last night, I want to apologize for," Killian wanted to reach out and touch her. The way her soft complexion caught the light of the setting sun as she sat in the passenger seat. He could smell her sweet perfume, he was intoxicated by that alone. "I don't want you to think that I don't, that I didn't want you."

"We don't have to get into it." Her body language shifted, and she was stone faced. Serious, almost sad. "There is too much at stake right now, with everything that's going on."

He thought she was done, but her pause was because her eyes had begun to brim with tears. It looked like she was biting her tongue, like if she opened her mouth the dam would burst.

"Emma…" he pulled her to him just as the first tear fell. His arms wrapped around her, and she leaned completely into him. Her hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt. Her cheek on his chest as he felt the breath move her spine. In the time Killian had known her, he had never seen her crack. With the immeasurable amount of stress she was under daily she held it all together. Until this very moment. "Darling, breathe."

"It's too much."

"Aye, of course it is." His hand drew soothing circles along her back, which seemed to calm her just a bit. "I've got you."

She pushed herself up so she was face to face with him but not out of his arms.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he tried. Wiping the tear from her cheek with the back of his finger. Her eyes gently closed, the long dark lashes fluttered to expel the remainder of her tears. The green orbs were vibrant after she had stopped crying, and Killian felt like he could look into them for hours. This was certainly not what he had in mind when he had called her here.

"Not really." Slowly she released her grip on his shirt, and allowed some distance between them. But their legs still touched and she was still on the center seat instead of the passenger. It was hard for him not to notice that. "I want to talk about my feelings about as much as I want a root canal."

There was a quiet that settled over them. A lightness for just a moment as Emma calmed and Killian smiled. For a few seconds, while they were the only two in the park, it felt like they were the only two in the world.

"It's Neal," she finally said, looking away from him out the windshield to the pink sky. "He was around today. Which was odd, obviously."

Killian's good hand still ran along the sleeve of her sweater, massaging a trail up and down that seemed to calm her as she spoke.

"He brought up getting married again, for real." Emma started to laugh, but it wasn't the bright one he had come to recognize. It was darker. "I had almost forgotten about all of that. That his plans include locking me in."

He brushed a lock of hair off of her face with his prosthetic. The pale blonde color tangling in its digits. They were getting closer to Neal wanting to marry her to legitimize him, and even if Emma wanted to she couldn't leave. Unless she wanted to look over her shoulder for August her whole life.

"Everyday I get closer to this..." she gestured to the ring on her finger. The ostentatious diamond that symbolized her fake marriage. "Closer to this being real."

Killian had allowed her to speak without interruption, to get all of her feelings out on the table. She trusted him. And he, her. But this time when she paused, she only looked at him. As if she needed him to say something, someone to tell her everything would be okay.

"I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen." Even if his reasons for doing so weren't entirely pure. There was a large part of him that wanted her to be free, to not have to worry about getting sucked into a loveless marriage or arrested as an accessory to crimes she did not commit. There was also a small, selfish part of him that wanted her all to himself. "I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I would never." He was going to add 'you can trust me' but he realized that she already seemed to. Completely. As she had been so vulnerable with him just now. "Emma I'm just as invested in this as you are."

"I know," she smiled. "That's why it works."

He smiled back at her, content to relish in that for a while. But he had come here for a reason, and given how upset Emma had just been time was, absolutely, of the essence. As if it hadn't been before.

"There's something I need to tell you," Killian finally said when silence had settled over them. "This morning I, uh, I went to Liam's room for the first time. Since his passing. And I found something."

This time she allowed him to speak, her eyes wide with concern as he pulled out the folder he had brought along with him.

"It's a check, from when Liam first started the business years ago. His first check to be precise. And I assumed he had saved it as something of a memento."

Killian handed Emma the paper. And watched as her eyes ran over it.

"Why in the world was Cora giving your brother $10,000?"

"It's not just that," he shifted. Getting ready to open up about another part of him. "The last name on there. Her maiden name, it's the same as my mother's."

"What?!"

"Delaney." He shifted. Emma knew of his mother, she knew quite a bit about him actually. But he rarely elaborated on that situation. For fear of reopening that wound. "My mother had a step-sister. So my conclusion is that they're somehow related."

"Your mom's never mentioned her?"

"No, my family is a bit… well my mum was estranged from her family. And then when everything happened with my father, that was like the nail in the coffin."

"Killian…" It was she who reached out for him. Her hand that found his leg. It was such a simple gesture but so comforting to him. It wasn't often someone knew the whole story.

"I don't know my grandparents on her side, and certainly not her siblings… obviously not her step siblings."

"So what does this mean do you think?"

"I don't know, love, I wish I did." He laid his hand over hers, almost expecting her to shift away but she didn't. Instead she leaned closer, her head on his chest, her ear to where his beating heart was. "It's something I'll need to address with my mum though."

"I don't know much about how families work, but it seems like that's something she should have told you. Or mentioned."

"Aye, so it makes me wonder. What all is being covered up, you know?"

"And the $10,000?"

"It doesn't make sense that Liam would have been given that so early on. Certainly not as a first customer. Unless there was something else tied to that money."

"Like a secret."

"Like a deep secret."

"So what do we do?" she asked, doe eyes and all staring up at him. He indulged again in the luxury of being able to run his fingers through her hair, and examine her bare face. She was stripped down like this, natural. And completely beautiful. "We need to find a weak point. Someone who can give some insight but without realizing they're doing it."

"But who?"

"There's got to be someone Cora doesn't get along with. Someone who resents her enough to spill on what that lady is up to all day."

"If there is they're probably too scared to talk."

"Someone like her daughter…."

"Regina? Have you met her? She's like Cora-lite."

"No. The other one. The one she doesn't like as much…. Zelena."

They sat for a while. Until the sun was completely set and the sky was pitch black. The stars were out tonight, and the air was warm. Together Killian and Emma devised a plan. One that would allow access to the pressure point. To Zelena. She was the natural choice. But eventually Emma had to go, she had been missing from her home long enough. And being that Neal was actually home she had to be somewhat around.

"How did you end up sneaking out of the house, if you don't mind me asking?" Killian wondered aloud.

A wry smile came across Emma's face, "I dumped all of the milk he uses for his cereal down the drain and said I needed to run out for more."

"A classic." He smiled back at her, sometimes the lighter things snuck in between them. And he couldn't say he didn't enjoy those moments.

"And about last night…" he started, treading carefully.

"What about last night?" she was serious again. And a wave of guilt crashed over Killian.

"Surely you can't think I didn't want to…"

"That was how it seemed to me. We can keep this friendly."

"Emma," His hand that was wrapped around her moved to pull her jaw toward him. "Of course I wanted to. I want you."

Through the dark she stared at him, her eyes searching his face for dishonesty, for a hint of an excuse to counter his declaration.

"But when I have you it won't be there." He bent so his lips grazed the shell of her ear. "When I have you it will be somewhere new, fresh. Where you'll see it and only think of me."

Her silence was all he needed to hear, the quickening of her breath. She knew it was crazy to think he didn't want her. She could feel the heat radiating between them now as they sat so close. As his hand ran up the side of her arm to cup her cheek.

Closing the gap between them his lips met hers, passionate. Assertive. It was the kind of kiss that left no room for the imagination. Whatever he was feeling for her, all of the desire he felt he poured into it.

"Now tell me, Emma, do you truly want to keep this 'friendly'?"

Unblinking, she gulped. "No."

"I didn't think so."

Emma sat stunned for a few seconds before righting herself and preparing to leave the truck.

"I'll um, I'll see you Saturday then," she said, a flush of pink on her cheeks.

"I look forward to it, love."

And with that she was gone. Leaving in her path the scent of her sweet aroma. Killian let out a deep breath, it had taken every ounce of restraint to not drive to the nearest hotel and whisk her away into the night. But he knew that he couldn't do that. Not when she had Neal waiting at home for her.

So for tonight he would have to let her go.

Emma Swan had always thought of herself as perceptive.

She could easily tell if someone was lying.

She noticed nervous ticks people had.

She picked up on habitual behavior quite easily.

Most importantly, though, she could tell if someone was watching her.

And at the moment, the pair of eyes watching her belonged to none other than the man she had been actively avoiding for almost a week. Killian Jones. The baby blues raking over her, Emma's back to where he was in the backyard. The residual embarrassment of him effectively rejecting her sexual advances was still a fresh wound. Only to be followed up by the most tender and confusing time together in his truck. All of it was racing through her head as he stood within her line of vision. None of this was anything she wanted to address at 9 am on a Saturday morning.

Feeling Killian's eyes on her but too stubborn to look at him, Emma continued to set the table on her patio. Focusing not on her gardener but instead on the long, glass surface now set for a proper brunch. Filled with breakfast pastries, fruit bowls, quishes, crystal orange juice pitchers, the perfectly placed gardenia arrangements. The meticulousness of it all distracting her from the obvious fact that at some point she would need to talk to Killian. She had done a smooth job of avoiding him throughout the past week. Not answering his calls, being out of the house when she knew he would be working in the yard. She needed to focus, couldn't cave to the insane yoyo they were playing every time they saw each other.

Today though there was no way around it, she would need to be home while he was there. Because for the first time in a while, Emma was expecting company.

Emma straightened the gold cutlery that framed the place settings, her left hand wearing her diamond engagement ring for appearances. The band of her wired watch ready to pick up any ancillary conversations her brunch would bring.

From across the yard she and Killian made eye contact. Unmistakable lingering eye contact. Her hand unconsciously drifting to the ring on her finger. As if covering it from his view would make it go away.

"Emma! Where are my golf spikes!" Neal yelled from inside more than he asked.

Suddenly she felt exposed, wrapping the silk robe around her tightly she stole away inside. As she walked to the garage, where she had hidden Neal's shoes to fuck with him, she tried to calm herself down. It was all going to be okay but she needed to focus.

Emma sat in her massive closet and distracted herself from the pink hue of her cheeks by applying more foundation. She topped off with a hint of mascara and a spritz of Chanel No 5.

As much as she liked that Killian's presence brought the natural pink color back into her cheeks, she knew having the ladies over for brunch required her full attention. Which would be hard enough to do with him lingering in the yard.

After putting on a yellow linen sundress, perfectly pressed and fitted, she tied her hair back into a tight bun. Her hair being as curly as it was, ran wild with the humidity. It was just easier to restrict it with a hairband. Finished readying herself, she took one last look at Neal's side of the closet. Each shirt perfectly dry-cleaned, pressed and hung in a row. It was tempting to not just rip them all down. Let them collect on the ground in a pile of wrinkles.

Emma Swan never thought of herself as one of the ladies who lunch, or in this case brunch. In fact for most of her life she had navigated without forming any meaningful connections at all. But today she was and she looked the part. Her nails were painted a dainty cream color. Her pale yellow dress swung in a skirt that fanned just above her waist, moving elegantly as she escorted each guest to the perfectly placed table. Ensuring everyone had the exact drink they wanted.

Mary Margaret was the first to arrive, bringing with her a steaming basket of blueberry muffins. It was when she came back out onto the porch with Mary Margaret in toe, that she realized something was different about the table.

"Wow, Emma those roses are beautiful," were the first words out of Mary Margaret's mouth when they stepped onto the porch. Emma whipped her head around to see what her friend was talking about when she saw the table.

The red roses stood out against the washed out whites and golds of the tablescape. Emma had hardly noticed how void of personality it looked until the pop of red had been added in lieu of the white. A quick glance into the yard confirmed Killian had been the one to add the red roses to the flower arrangements. He gave her a subtle wink. She imagined Killian's calloused, dirt covered hands arranging each rose with the utmost of care. An involuntary smile crossed her face before she caught herself.

"Emma these pastries are lovely," Zelena said taking a bite of one of the light, fluffy croissants. The words strung together were nice but the more the meal went on the more Emma realized Zelena was the type of person who could always make something sound like an insult. As she bit into one of Mary Margaret's muffins and neglected to comment.

"Thank you, they're from Granny's." Emma was bummed Ruby couldn't be here, but in fairness it was Saturday at brunch time and she needed to be at work at the restaurant. At least Mary Margaret was there.

"You know it's so hard to find decent bakeries these days. Everything's so commercialized around here anymore."

Emma couldn't say she disagreed. Remembering back to the first day she arrived in Storybrooke, and all she could see were suburban developments and chain restaurants.

"That's what happens when a town grows, Zelena," Regina chimed in from the end of the table. She had shown up 25 minutes late, while on the phone, and had barely spoken a word since she had arrived. At the head of the table, wearing a dark sensible blazer, it looked more like Regina was attending a conference not a brunch.

"I happen to think it can grow without turning into a giant strip mall… but again maybe that's why I'm not in charge."

Emma leaned back in her chair and sipped the cold mimosa in her glass. Most of the morning had been this way. The two sisters taking any shot they could at each other without actually laying a hand on one another.

"Does anyone need another drink? I need another one." Emma drained her mostly full mimosa and stood up from the table. Any time the air got too tense she made a dash for the kitchen. Hosting had one advantage, she could pretend to be polite while also avoiding the situation completely.

"I'll help," Mary Margaret said abruptly, standing from the table to follow Emma. The look on her friend's face said 'you're not leaving me out here alone with them'.

"They've been going at it the whole time," Mary Margaret sighed, setting the champagne flute down on the marble counter. Emma's kitchen, despite the brunch, was impeccably clean. She preferred to keep up with messes as she went. They were easier to manage that way.

"I never had a sister but even in my wildest dreams I never imagined they would be this terrible."

"I don't think their relationship is typical…" Mary Margaret crossed her arms. Emma rarely heard her friend say anything negative about anyone. "As long as I've known them they've been ridiculously competitive."

"Competitive I can understand but they seem like downright enemies."

"What do you expect with a mother like they have?"

"Cora can't possibly be that bad…" Emma felt bad pushing for more on Cora from Mary Margaret, as much as she knew that was the purpose of this brunch she cared about Mary Margaret. She didn't want to treat her like a pawn.

"She has been pitting them against each other for years. No one really understands why, she clearly favors Regina."

That much Emma could sense. Easily.

Emma pulled the chilled bottle of champagne from the fridge, carefully tipping the liquid into the empty flutes. Through the kitchen window she could see Killian, in the yard, shoveling pebbles into place in a small path between flower beds.

The yard had really come to life as of late, and soon it would be finished. There was green grass, carefully cut. A white gazebo amongst ivy. Colorful flowers planted in organized lines. Yet Killian had made it all look elegant, natural. Not contrived and pretentious like some of her neighbors. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the end of his shirt and Emma caught a peak of his abs.

"Shit…" It wasn't until Emma felt the bubbly cold liquid on her hand that she realized she had lost focus and was spilling champagne all over the floor.

Just get through the rest of this brunch. Then you can fantasize about him all you want, she told herself.

The rest of the brunch was more of the same. After downing three mimosas in quick succession Emma slowed herself so she could focus on the task at hand. Intel. Unfortunately for her not much came of it. The passive aggressive digs being thrown across the table by each sister weren't much more telling. Other then Zelena hated what the town had become under her sister's reign as mayor and Regina hated everything about her sister. Why the chose to live right next door to one another was beyond her. If someone hated their family so much, why not just keep a distance? Why live in the same town, in the same neighborhood?

Nearly three hours later, the morning had winded down. Transitioning to the afternoon as the sun rose higher in the sky. Emma could see the sweat glistening on Killian's forehead, but he left his shirt on. Perhaps it was because Emma had company. Or perhaps it was because he wasn't into teasing her anymore at all. That he was trying to convey a clear message.

What they had the night he rejected her stopped then. The end.

Emma knew enough about suburbia and appearances and the Mills family in general to know that people said the most when they thought no one was listening. Which was why Emma took the opportunity of Zelena and Regina's exit to hide in the shadows and listen to their conversation.

Her back to the closed pocket doors that separated the foyer from the office, Emma pressed her ear to understand what the two sisters could possibly say to one another when no one was listening.

"You think no one knows where you go late at night? You think it's some big secret?" That was clearly Zelena, the biting tone contradicting her soft whisper.

"I don't know what you're talking about and you had better watch what you say." Regina spoke more calmly, like a smooth hushed tone. As if conflict was relaxing to her. "Some of us have real reputations. And careers."

"Oh please, we all know what mom did for you. Don't pretend like you earned this."

That was the last thing Emma heard before the slam of her front door. Her heart beating fast she stood there, frozen in place. Not sure if she had just heard nothing important or everything she had been hoping to hear.

What had Cora done for her daughter? Why hadn't she done it for the other? And most importantly how did that all tie back to the Gold's?

After pulling herself together, Emma made her way to the deck. While she had kept her kitchen organized and tidy, the table was another story. What had once been a pristine table was now in total disarray. Linen napkins were stained with red lipstick, crumbs littered the glass surface. Dirty glasses and gold leaf plates were cluttered with the remains of pastries and eggs.

In a way she liked it. The chaos of it all. How an unassuming stranger would guess there had been an enjoyable morning spent on the porch. It looked lived in, not so stale.

Then there were the red roses.

"Listen… I can't talk right now, I have to get this all cleaned up," Emma waved him off. Maybe if he stayed physically far enough away from her, whatever spell she was under in his presence would wear off.

"I don't want to talk," he said, not stopping his measured steps toward her. Emma looked into his eyes, hers never leaving his as he stalked toward her. A shiver went down her spine as she felt the cloth of his t-shirt brush the fabric of her dress. That was how close they were.

Emma had almost forgotten how much taller he was than her, craning her neck up toward him he came across domineering. Arrogant. A confidence she hadn't seen in him yet. At least not in the context of their situation.

"What do you want then?" She tried to hold her own confidence, but as a smirk crossed his face and reached his haunting eyes she felt her resolve crumble around her.

"You know what I want." His hands found their way to her waist, the feel of his grip on her eliciting a warm feeling in the base of her belly. "Or at least I thought you did."

"You rejected me, Killian. I understood loud and clear…" Emma pushed on his chest with her hand and stepped away. Walking toward the railing of the porch and staring out into the yard.

When silence fell over the two of them, Emma thought he would go. Assumed he would head back to his truck and drive off. But then she heard the rumble of a deep laugh. One that came from the back of his throat and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Emma, darling." His boots hit the porch floor at the pace of her beating heart. He was right behind her. Not touching but just close enough. Emma closed her eyes. She took in the scent of his cologne. She took in the feel of his energy. How it connected with her own. "I never said I didn't want you."

"You didn't have to."

"Does it feel like I don't want you?" he asked, dragging his fingers up her bare arms. Her back pressed to his front. His very alert front. "My apologies if I haven't been clear enough."

Instinctively Emma's head shifted back against his chest. She leaned into his touch as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The prickly feeling along her skin as his hands teased her. Slowly one untied the bun from her hair, the blonde curls falling loose around her shoulders.

"I didn't want to have you in that bed, with all of the… history that's there." He pulled her hair off of her neck and began to trail kisses along the bend to her shoulder. "It wasn't the right place."

"Oh, and here is?" As much as she was turned on by him, attracted to him, drawn to him, how was her house any different?

"Has anyone ever had you on this table?" he broke his kisses along her neck, the scruff of his beard tickling her very sensitive skin.

"No," she managed to choke out.

"In this dress?" Another kiss, this time with teeth.

"No." Barely the word, mostly just breath.

"Is there anyone else here?"

"No."

"You drive me mad, Emma." He spun her around, so she was facing him. Her body pressed between the railing of the porch and his body. The hard planes of it pressed against her. "I haven't stopped thinking about you for weeks."

Emma's hand had made its way to the back of his neck, toying with the hair at the base of it. He knew he had her. She could see it in the flicker in his deep blue eyes. The same way he could see it in hers.

"Certainly you must know that?"

For a moment he wasn't arrogant, wasn't acting solely on bravado. His face was earnest, a flicker of honesty. He was testing her. He wanted to know she understood that him not welcoming her advances on Saturday night had nothing to do with her. But the circumstance.

"I know," she breathed before connecting her lips with his. The electricity from their mouths together. It was intoxicating, the feel of him. Like they had been doing it for years. Or lifetimes.

"Good," he muttered back between swipes of his tongue. Diving deeper into her mouth as she craned her neck to grant him entrance. His rough hands were all over her in a gripping way, demanding. Killian reached under her dress and grabbed the tops of her thighs, wrapping them around him and lifting her into the air.

Emma never liked feeling fragile, never enjoyed feeling like a doll. But there was something in the way Killian's strong arms lifted her with no effort that set her blood on fire. That sent waves through her entire body.

Killian sat her down on the edge of the table, shoving glassware, napkins, plates off to the side to make room for her. Some of it fell to the ground and shattered, others just clamored together. Either way Emma didn't care. The whole house could crumble right now and she would be halfway to an orgasm before she realized.

"I hope those weren't expensive," he muttered between biting and sucking on her neck.

"Of course they were." Emma leaned her head back, hoping he would continue with his mouth somewhere else. "Extremely."

"Bill me," he growled, shoving even more of the mess onto the deck. Shards of glass scattered everywhere around them as he laid her back down onto the table.

For a moment he slowed, running a finger down her jaw. Her neck. Her chest. Her hips. All the way down beneath the hem of her skirt.

"Emma… have you been without underwear all morning?"

A pause. Emma stared up at him, his blue eyes dark and hooded with desire at the feel of her bare beneath her skirt.

"That's terribly naughty of you, love." In one smooth movement he had knelt to the ground and pulled Emma right to the edge of the table. Her center level with his face, so close she could feel his breath. "You also neglected to offer me any food earlier…. All the while you were walking around bare…"

"Killian…. Please…" she moaned as she felt inhaled her scent, moving even closer to her.

He inhaled again, deeper this time and said, "Might I have a taste?"

"Yes."

His tongue traced its way along her clit, once. That was all before the bastard pulled away.

"You can have another," she whispered, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

Killian flattened his tongue against her clit and tasted Emma again. Leaving her body aching for his touch. His grip around her hips only pulled her closer toward him. She tried not to make much noise but cried out at the assault of his mouth on her center.

He ate her like a man starved. Using his tongue, his lips, his teeth. And then his finger, as it drifted over her dripping center and then slid inside. Bending it so it would hit her most sensitive spot. Emma couldn't help but grind against it, the feel of a second finger entering her. If it felt this good she could only imagine how good all of him would feel.

Emma's eyes opened and looked down to see the dark head of hair as Killian worked. Pushed her closer to her peak. Something came over her as she climbed to that point, she wanted him to watch.

"Killian..." she managed to gasp. And he didn't miss a beat as his eyes met hers. His almost black hair disheveled. He looked like the devil. Or a temptation so dirty it could only be described as demonic. "Watch me."

Emma came, in a soft and muffled groan she came. Her whole body shuddering against the hard surface of the table.

When she resumed her conscious mind she looked up at him. At Killian, as he stood above her. His angular features catching the light. His white shirt pulling at his muscles.

"That was…" he started, but this time Emma was the one who didn't want to talk. She used all of her energy to sit up and yank him down on top of her. Their lips meeting. His hands stroking her breasts over the fabric of her dress. Her hands wandered to his pants. The stretched material of his very hard member.

Emma's shaking fingers undid his belt, then his zipper. Pulling down his briefs to expose his very impressive length. Her jaw didn't drop but it felt like it did.

"Darling, are you alright?" His hand was gentle on her cheek, drawing her gaze up to his face. Nothing but heat behind his blue eyes as he stared down at her. "I can be gentle."

Emma was quiet for a moment. Knowing her body had not been this responsive to anyone before. And selfishly wanting more.

"Do not.." she started, "be gentle, until I say so."

In one movement he aligned himself and rammed into her. Emma's arms wrapped around him, as he held for a moment to let her adjust to his size.

"Emma?"

"Until I say so."

Killian leaned forward, pinning her to the table as he began to pump into her. He certainly listened to her instruction, and that was all he needed. As his hips worked into her and her legs tightened around his waist.

Emma felt herself growing closer, each movement Killian made every nerve ending in her body come alive. She had never felt anything this good before. She looked up at him, biting her lip and taking everything he gave.

Killian bent down, not missing a beat, and resting his forearms on either side of her. Their eyes were locked as he slowed his pace.

"You feel incredible…" he said as he grinded into her. Though his pace had slowed, his power had not. He was deliberate, and precise as his hips moved to meet hers. She felt every inch of him. His hand reached down to massage her.

His head leaned down and he caught the delicate skin on her neck between his teeth. Emma's back arched off of the table.

She let out another groan, a bit louder than she had been before. Killian smirked and caught her lips with his. Every movement of his mouth synced with the movement of their hips. Emma didn't know how much longer she could hold back.

"Killian… I can't…"

"Just let go," he whispered against her lips before diving in for more. It was a good thing too, because as she reached her peak she wanted to scream out. To let everyone with ears know how euphoric this felt. Killian followed her over and as they both calmed he pressed gentle kisses along her skin.

Emma felt like she was floating. Like her skin wasn't even touching the table. This would complicate everything, even more so than it already was. But she couldn't even force herself to make this bad. Not with the way she felt.

Not even so much the feeling, but just knowing, knowing with absolute certainty she had never had this kind of connection with anyone.

"Emma? What are you…?"

Emma's head rolled over to see that standing in her doorway, looking at her in a very compromising position with the gardener was Regina Mills.


End file.
